Crazy Train
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchester's ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/Dean
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Crazy Train

 **Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

 **Info:** Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchester's ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/Dean

 **Author's Note:** I'm feeling my way into this one. I know where I want to go but getting there without rushing it is hanging me up a bit. Lol Bear with me here. I've had this idea for over a year and only now gotten to it. I want to give a special thanks to Jenjoremy, Janice, and a few others who brainstormed this thing with me. Thanks, ladies. *huggles*

 **Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

 _**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!_ _ **  
~Reviews are Love~  
Disclaimer: **__They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh._

 _ **-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

 **Chapter 1**

Dean leaned back from the laptop, stretching his arms above his head and looked over to his brother. He snorted a laugh at the sight that greeted him. "Man, you're gonna fall over backwards and break something." Sam was propped in the chair and leaning back, tilted on two legs with his own legs resting on a second chair in a complicated and tenuous balancing act while he read one of the heavy tomes from their library.

"Am not," Sam said and gave his brother a distracted smile. "I'm comfortable. Shut up." What he didn't say was leaning back the way he was had been the only position that made the healing wound in his stomach stop aching. Dean had been hovering over him for a solid week in a fit of guilt and fear, and Sam did not want to add to it. "I have better balance than you anyway."

Dean snorted a laugh, but he studied his brother while Sam wasn't looking. He did not believe for one moment that he was as 'fine' as he kept insisting. It had only been a week since Dean had dug a bullet out of his brother's gut; since a murdering bastard had tried to suffocate him after Dean had made the mistake of trusting someone else with Sam's safety. A week since he had been sure Sam was dead... again. He shook his head and looked back to the laptop screen. He and Sam had yet to really talk about what Dean had done in an effort to get Sam back when he had thought him dead; that he had been willing to risk his own death just for the chance to bargain for Sam's life with a reaper who hated them. It wasn't something they were likely ever going to agree on, and Dean would do it all again, no matter what Sam said.

"You find us a job yet?" Sam asked as he turned a page in the old book. It was a collection of ancient banishing sigils that had fascinated him when he had found them that morning.

"Nope." Dean nudged the laptop with his knuckles. "All quiet on the monster front. Makes my teeth itch."

Sam smirked but nodded. "Yeah. Means they're going to ground and that can't be good."

"Well, when you know darkness from the beginning of time is coming to clean your clock, you hide." Dean shrugged and looked at his watch. "It's beer-thirty. You want one?" He waved a hand before Sam could answer. "You're getting one." He took two steps and stumbled as an ear-piercing alarm began to blare through the bunker. He slapped his hands over his ears and looked over in time to see his brother's feet fly up in the air as his chair went out from under him.

Sam startled so badly with the assault of sound, he lost his precarious balance in his tipped chair and went over backwards with a loud 'smack'. He was still staring up at the ceiling with the alarm wailing in his ears when his brother's face appeared above his.

"Sammy?" Dean could not help the laugh as he knelt beside his brother and shook his head. "Dude, I told you not to lean back that far. Come on. Head still in one piece?" He hovered a hand over his brother's stomach where the gunshot wound was still healing. "You gonna spring a leak?"

"Shuddup." Sam groaned as Dean shoved the chair aside and levered him up so he was sitting. He put a hand to the back of his head and winced. "What the hell is that alarm?" His stomach burned after the impact, and he worked hard to keep from letting his brother know. No reason to send Dean on another bout of mother-henning when he knew it would be fine. Thankfully, Dean let it go and smiled, taking his arm.

"Let's go find out, assuming your egg-head is still ticking over and not knocked sideways." Dean grinned at Sam's bitch-face and stood, pulling his brother along with him. He steadied him when he swayed and frowned. "Dude, you sure you're alright?"

Sam rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it. "I'm fine." He kept a hand over the aching bump on the back of his head while the siren continued to wail. "I really want that thing off."

Dean slapped the back of Sam's shoulder as hard as he dared and strode down to the war room and the long control panel. "What the hell world-ending bullshit we got this time, huh?"

"I don't know." Sam rubbed his head gingerly and checked the long console and its multitude of flashing lights. He frowned, trying to figure out which panel was for what and reached out, pressing a button. He smiled when the alarm went silent. "Well, that's better at least."

"You know, I still don't know what the hell all this crap's for." Dean shook his head and leaned a hip against the panel. "I mean some of it I get, but..."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Kevin said the place went nuts when the angels fell, so clearly a lot of this is based on some sort of binary application of science and magic and…" He stopped when he realized Dean was staring at him and grinning. "What?"

Dean laughed and scrubbed his hands over his face. "My little brother, the giant nerd. Some things never change."

Sam flushed and rolled his eyes even as he smiled, pleased at the note of pride behind his brother's teasing. "Shut up. I'm gonna go grab the manuals for this console from downstairs. Don't push anything and blow us up." He dodged the kick Dean aimed at his leg with a laugh as he left.

"So much for our quiet day," Dean groaned as he watched the lights flashing though the alarm was silent. He lifted his head and yelled when he heard Sam's steps coming quickly back up the hall. "If this is another round of dick angels headin' for the pavement, I say we make some popcorn!"

Sam huffed a laugh as Dean's words echoed through the war room. "Got them." He set the stack of manuals on the table. He had found four of them, all inches thick and sometimes more confusing than enlightening. "These things read like stereo instructions."

"Awesome." Dean grabbed one and flipped it open. "We even know what we're looking for?"

"Yeah. Hang on." Sam grabbed a pen and a note pad from the table and went to the console. He knelt beside it and wrote down the serial number on its side. "Here." Sam handed it to his brother. "Check the indexes for that number." He pulled his finger slowly down the index in the first book, trying not to let his eyes cross as he read the small printed numbers looking for a match. He set aside the first book and grabbed another and was only half through the list when his brother crowed.

"Got it!" Dean checked the page number and flicked through the four-inch-thick tome until he found the one he wanted. He sat back in one of the chairs and groaned as he scanned the first page. "This might make my eyes bleed."

"You want me too…"

"I got it. Go make coffee." Dean threw him a smirk and settled back with the book.

Sam chuckled and stood. "Yeah, ok." He smiled, watching Dean's face descend into concentration. His brother always made a point of calling himself a 'grunt' and Sam the 'brains' but in truth, Dean was brilliant and the best damn hunter Sam had ever known, brother or not. Sam wished sometimes that he wouldn't be so hard on himself but he knew that was a behavior Dean had learned early on. He shook his head at himself, feeling anger at their father even after so many years and so much hell. The apocalypse had come and gone twice over and there were still days he wished he could see dad again, both to hold him and tell him how much he missed him and to rail at him on behalf of his brother. "Stupid," Sam muttered as he turned into the kitchen and instead focused his mind on the mundane task of coffee.

By the time he returned to the war room with two steaming mugs of coffee, Dean was standing at the console; book in one hand and the other scratching the back of his neck as he stared down at it. "You figure it out?" He held out one of the mugs.

"Huh? Oh, think so yeah. Thanks." Dean took the coffee and handed the manual to Sam. "If I'm reading that thing right, this console's like a car alarm."

Sam's brows flew up. "What?"

Dean snorted and sipped his coffee. "Not for a car. It's monitoring something, and the alarms mean it's been broken into or stopped, or something."

"What's it monitoring, then?" Sam set his coffee down and started reading the entry his brother had found.

"I think it's a train." Dean shrugged as Sam gave him a perplexed look. He reached out and pressed on a flat panel at the front of the console, where the manual had showed him. The panel depressed slightly and then sprang up to reveal an old computer screen. "Check this out."

"That's a map of America." Sam leaned over and then looked back to the manual.

"Betting these are train tracks." Dean ran his fingers over the broken lines criss-crossing the map like spider-webs. "And this must be our train. But what's on it?"

"There's a card catalogue number here." Sam put his coffee down and headed for the library. "I'm starting to get the feeling we just unearthed another Men of Letters ticking bomb."

"Yeah." Dean sighed, looking at the small, blinking, yellow light on the map. "This is only about three hours out from here, maybe four." He picked up both their coffees and followed Sam into the library, setting his brother's mug on the table while he flicked through index cards. "If this is another Werther box, we're leaving it alone." He spoke firmly and quirked a brow when Sam's eyes rose up to his. "We are _not_ donatin' more blood for some twisted booby trap."

"Pretty sure that was a one-time thing, Dean." Sam shook his head and pushed away the vivid memory of nearly bleeding out to get the codex and knowing Dean was the only reason he was still alive to feel guilt for everything that came after. "Got it." He pulled one of the cards out of the index and easily found the shelf he needed on the other side of the room.

"Have you memorized this whole damn room?" Dean asked with a laugh.

"Shuddup." Sam ran his fingers along the spines of the books, reading the numbers of the decimal system and plucked out the one he wanted with a smile. "I'm just glad these guys were anal about cataloging the books if nothing else." He brought it over to the table and sat down, taking a sip of his coffee before he opened the book and started searching.

Dean shoved his chair closer and leaned over to look when Sam seemed to find what he was looking for. He read the words along with him and felt his brows slowly rise up his forehead in surprise. "Are you kidding me?"

Sam sighed. He had been hoping that it wouldn't be something potentially deadly and was unhappy to find out those hopes were gone. "So." He pushed the book over to Dean so his brother could finish reading it and ran his hands through his hair. "The Men of Letters had all kinds of cursed crap that was too dangerous to keep in one place and instead of destroying it, they packed it all up onto some train cars, spelled the crap out of them, and set them on an endless trip around the country? How is that better that salting and burning it all?"

Dean turned to the next page and gave a derisive snort. "I know this handwriting. It's that Werther asshat. Bet you money, he was hoping he could figure out how to use some of it and talked the other idiots into this train bullshit."

Sam pulled the book back from his brother and continued reading, turning pages as he scanned the paragraphs. "So get this, one of the objects on the train has the ability to bend the space around it if left in one location for too long which is why the train always has to be moving." He set the book in front of his brother and tapped one paragraph and a collection of hand-drawn magical symbols beside it. "They basically cursed the cars. No one remembers seeing them, and they'll just be shunted from train to train according to the pattern set into this spellwork forever. And you have to know the pattern to actually get on the train."

"And have the bunker key." Dean nodded, seeing that line of information before Sam turned the page again. "Ok, so we know where it is and how to get into it…"

"Yeah. But what set off the alarms?" Sam got up and went back to the console and the manual.

"Well, it's stopped for one thing. That'd be my guess. That light's not moving." Dean flipped through several pages and found the start of a manifest of the contents of the box cars. "There's three of them, all double-decker cars." He turned to the next page and snarled, running his fingers down the torn edges of a good twenty pages. "And someone's torn the damn manifest out of here."

"I think it's not just that it's stopped." Sam frowned, checking the numerical lines at the bottom of the map on the console against the manual. "I think something's gotten out. Or been taken out. I don't know. There's no way to tell from here, but these codes mean that containment's been breached."

Dean closed the book with a snap and tossed it to Sam. "Bring that and let's saddle up. May as well go clean up their mess again." He shook his head as they strode down the hall to their rooms. "You know, if those assholes had just had a couple hunters around, this shit wouldn't have happened. Friggin' know-it-all morons."

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Sam leaned back as far as he could in the front seat of the Impala, trying to ease the strain on his healing stomach without his brother noticing and held up his phone. "So, get this; there are police reports of weird shit happening in the area where that train is stopped."

Dean scowled. "Define 'weird shit'."

"We've got people claiming to have seen monsters - no description on what kind; just your usual hysterical type of witness. Couple people talking about ghosts, and one guy…" Sam chuckled and turned the phone back to his brother to show him the mug shot of a man with wiry blonde hair in a halo around his head and wide eyes. "… who says an invisible alien picked him up, threw him across the street, and stripped him. Cops caught him streaking the railyard, and he had a blood-alcohol content higher than yours after the season finale of Dr. Sexy."

"Kiss my ass, Sammy," Dean snarled even as he flushed with embarrassment. "That shit's stressful."

Sam laughed and tucked his phone in his jacket. "You want to start with witnesses or head right for the train?"

"Witnesses. I don't wanna walk up to that thing blind if there's something hunting around it." Dean turned in toward the small town outside the railyard and cursed the afternoon traffic as they were slowed to a crawl. "What the hell? There's like nine buildings in this Podunk town!"

"Look." Sam pointed to a banner strung between two of the taller buildings. "Today's the local arts and crafts festival." He sighed. "That means more potential victims."

"Cop shop." Dean nodded ahead of them and waited for a break in the oncoming traffic to whip the Impala through the break, chuckling when his little brother slapped a hand out to the dash in self-defense at the sharp turn.

"Jerk," Sam muttered as he got a very close look at the grill of the pickup truck Dean had cut off before they shot into the parking lot.

"Bitch." Dean grinned over at him as he pulled in.

Sam pulled the cigar box with their false ID's from the glove box and fished two out, handing one to his brother. "Figure we'll go in as reporters. They should be used to that by now."

"Tabloids are probably goin' nuts with this, yeah." Dean got out and straightened his flannel, quickly tucking in his t-shirt to look less like he had just rolled out of bed. He strung the lanyard of his identification over his head and gave Sam a nod. "Let's go charm the locals." He strode up to the station with Sam in tow and pushed through the doors. The squad room was small, as he expected for a small-town precinct. There were a handful of metal desks and one lone officer manning the front desk. Dean saw the moment the officer noticed the identification around their necks and rolled his eyes.

"Help you, gentlemen?" The officer's voice was anything but welcoming as he eyed them.

Dean put his smile in place and leaned a hip against the counter. "Look, we know you don't wanna answer anymore stupid questions about the crazies. Hell, we don't wanna ask 'em!" He waved a hand between him and his brother. "But the boss tells us to jump, we ask how high or they send someone else and we're lookin' for a new job." He gave a friendly shrug as the officer's attitude seemed to cool off slightly. "Give us a break, man. We're just doing our jobs."

Sam smiled as well and hoped his expression radiated the sincerity he was trying for. "We just need to get the bare bones, names of the witnesses, and we'll be out of your hair." He rolled his own eyes. "Story like this isn't exactly a big paycheck, you know?" He saw the moment the officer bought their story in a loosening of the man's shoulder and a sympathetic, half-smile.

"Yeah, alright." The officer ran a hand back through his brown hair and then waved it to his right. "Go on in the conference room over there and I'll bring you the reports. You're lucky. The chief and the rest of the guys are out for the festival crowds or you'd never get to look at them."

"Thanks, man." Dean grinned and gave him a nod while he and Sam headed for the door he had gestured to. He stepped inside with Sam at his back and blew out a breath. "Thought we were gonna have to do a lot more tap-dancing to get a look at those files."

Sam nodded. "Lucky us. Now we just have to hope there's something useful in them."

An hour later, as they left the precinct and climbed back into the Impala, Sam shook his head and dropped his notes on the seat. "Except for the witness' names, that was a monumental waste of time."

"It's like they weren't even trying." Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled back out into the snarl of festival traffic. "At least no one's dead yet."

"That we know of," Sam said darkly. "It's a train yard. That means some sort of vagrant population. Odds are no one who cares has missed them yet."

"I hate when you're all doom and gloom before we even get there, Sammy." Dean grabbed a notebook from his brother's lap and looked at the address on the first page. "The 'invisible aliens' dude only lives two blocks from the yard. Let's start with him, and we can go have a look while we're at it."

Sam twisted to reach into the backseat and grabbed the book they had found on the train in the bunker's library. He leafed through it, hoping to find more information. "There has to be more to getting on that train than just the bunker key."

"Don't see why not. That's all we needed to get into the bunker." Dean shrugged. "I looked over some of the blueprints." He glanced over and saw Sam's brows go up curiously. "What? I get bored when I can't sleep and I get nosy. Shuddup. Anyway, the bunker's like Fort friggin' Knox without the key. The spellwork in there locks the place up tight from the outside. Train's probably set up the same way."

Sam nodded. "You're probably right." He set the book on the seat between them as Dean turned into a rundown neighborhood of ramshackle homes in various states of decay. "If I'd been them, I think I'd have put the whole bunker on wheels in the first place. Would have been a hell of a lot harder for Abaddon to break in if they had." He warmed to the idea as he thought about it. "Plus, you could literally move the whole thing where you needed it the most. Not that they liked hunters much, but it would have been really handy that way."

"And easier to lose," Dean pointed out. "You imagine if we'd had to search every train track in America to find the place?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, alright. Maybe not. That's it." He pointed to a house on their right that was little more than a shack, but the numbers were clear on the mailbox. "Geez, this guy's practically homeless himself."

Dean parked and got out. "Train yard's that way," he said, nodding toward the shack. "Let's see if Close Encounters is home."

Sam smirked as they crossed the overgrown lawn. "Play nice, Dean."

"I'm nice!" Dean protested. "Dude said aliens, Sam. You know those crazies are always, well, crazy."

"Your face is crazy," Sam muttered and grinned as Dean punched his arm. He strode up the three steps and tried to ignore the ominous creak as their combined weight caused the planks beneath them to shift. Sam reached out and knocked on the door and groaned as it swung inward several inches. "Well, that's never a good sign." He drew his gun in unison with his brother and pushed the door the rest of the way open as he eased inside, Dean a silent presence at his back. "Mr. Granger?" Sam called, but there was no response in the silent house.

Dean stepped around his brother and into a small living room, taking in the state of things with a tense gaze. "It looks like he was nesting in here." A bookcase had been shoved in front of the small window, the couch was pulled into the middle of the room, and, as Dean stepped around it, he saw a pile of ratty blankets atop a small, stained mattress beside an ancient television set on the floor. "Feel like we're gonna need shots after we get outta here. Yo! Bill!" Dean's voice rang through the house, and he smiled with a shrug when Sam stared at him. "Just makin' sure he's not passed out with Captain Morgan somewhere in this place."

Sam shook his head fondly for his brother's antics and went to the end of the narrow hall. "Got the kitchen." He grimaced at the rotting food left on the three-legged, chipped, formica table and the dishes piled in the sink. "Definitely not touching anything in here." His eyes caught on the back door, noting that it was open as well, and he skirted the sketchy table to get to it. He managed to hold in his yelp as several, large roaches skittered across the floor. He gave himself a shake and felt his skin begin to itch in reaction. "This whole house is like one big health code violation. Geez."

"You should see the rat I just freaked out in the living room." Dean chuckled and followed his brother out the back door. The porch had long since fallen and both men dropped down several feet onto bare earth. "If he was so scared of the damn aliens, why would he go back to the train yard?" Dean nudged Sam's shoulder and gestured to the ground with his gun; a fresh trail of footprints led away from the house through the dirt and toward the trains.

Sam swallowed hard against the pain the jump down had caused in his gut and nodded. "Maybe he wanted proof." He hoped his voice didn't give him away, and though Dean's eyes cut to him suddenly, his brother said nothing, and Sam counted that as a win.

"Like those asshat Ghostfacers. Awesome." Dean gave a long-suffering sigh and started across the yard. "Let's go have a look."

"I really wish we knew what we were walking into," Sam muttered. "Dean, hang on." He grabbed his brother's shoulder ahead of him and pulled him to a stop. "Let's get the weapons bag first."

Dean frowned but he nodded, seeing the logic. "Your Spidey-senses tingling?"

Sam shrugged and started around the house, rather than going through it again. "I don't know. Just a bad feeling."

Dean looked over his shoulder at the line of trees screening their view of the rail yard. "Always go with your gut." He trusted his brother's instincts as well as his own, perhaps more, knowing that Sam had always had a little something 'extra' in the psychic department, demon blood or not.

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 _To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Crazy Train

 **Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

 **Info:** Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchester's ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/DEan

 **Author's Note:** I know. I know. I'm an evil such and such. Lol I lurv you!

 **Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

 _**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!_ _ **  
~Reviews are Love~  
Disclaimer: **__They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh._

 _ **-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

 _Dean nudged Sam's shoulder and gestured to the ground with his gun; a fresh trail of footprints led away from the house through the dirt and toward the trains._

 _Sam swallowed hard against the pain the jump down had caused in his gut and nodded. "Maybe he wanted proof." He hoped his voice didn't give him away and, though Dean's eyes cut to him suddenly, his brother said nothing and Sam counted that as a win._

" _Like those asshat Ghostfacers. Awesome." Dean gave a long-suffering sigh and started across the yard. "Let's go have a look."_

" _I really wish we knew what we were walking into," Sam muttered. "Dean, hang on." He grabbed his brother's shoulder ahead of him and pulled him to a stop. "Let's get the weapons bag first."_

 _Dean frowned but he nodded, seeing the logic. "Your Spidey-senses tingling?"_

 _Sam shrugged and started around the house, rather than going through it again. "I don't know. Just a bad feeling."_

 _Dean looked over his shoulder at the line of trees screening their view of the rail yard. "Always go with your gut." He trusted his brother's instincts as well as his own, perhaps more knowing that Sam had always had a little something 'extra' in the psychic department, demon blood or not._

 **Chapter 2**

The mournful call of a train whistle echoed out of the rail yard as Sam emerged from the trees with his brother. He looked out in dismay. "There must be a dozen trains parked here." Some of them were new, others years old and covered in graffiti. One set of four cars was parked and were so old they were brown with age and rust, the windows empty of glass, and long-established weeds growing up between the wheels.

"How in the hell do we tell which one's our rolling vault of the weird?" Dean adjusted the heavy duffel over his shoulder and moved down the small incline to the rocky ground with a shake of his head. "No more tracks to follow on this crap. That Granger guy could be anywhere."

"What's that?" Sam pointed and moved past his brother toward a large round hole in the ground, stepping carefully over each set of tracks as the moved, and there were too many too count. As they neared, he recognized it. "Switching station." He gestured to the train-wide bridge that crossed the deep pit. "They use this to turn the engines around on a dime."

Dean peered over the side and groaned. "Ah, hell. Look. Think that's our crazy." He gave the yard a quick glance and then put up his gun.

"Be careful," Sam warned as he looked down and saw a body with the head of flyaway, blonde hair that had been in Granger's arrest picture. "Maybe he fell."

Dean snorted as he dropped the weapons duffel to the ground and went over the side carefully. "And maybe pink fairies in tutus are gonna fly out my ass."

Sam chuckled as his brother dropped nimbly to the bottom ten feet down. "There's a ladder inset in the wall over there."

Dean nodded and walked across to the body. He glanced up at the bridge above as it blocked the late-day sun and shivered in the new chill. Dean knelt beside the body, taking in the ratty, denim jacket and torn jeans before cautiously turning the man onto his back with a grunt of effort. "Shit," he breathed. Granger's eyes were bloodshot and staring wide in death. Deep bruising ringed the pale skin of his throat, and something had torn into his chest leaving his white t-shirt stained a macabre red. "Something killed this poor bastard with prejudice," he called up to his brother.

"Damn." Sam tensed and scanned the trains surrounding them. "I hate being right sometimes."

"Sometimes I hate when you're right too." Dean stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans before crossing to the ladder.

Sam watched his brother climb out and couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them. He grabbed the weapons bag, slinging it over his shoulder and moved around the pit to meet Dean at the top. "Pretty sure whatever killed him is still hanging around."

"Gimme that," Dean said once he was up and pulled the bag from his brother's shoulder. There was no way he was letting Sam carry the heavy thing with a still healing gut, whether his brother would fess up to it or not. "Any idea how we find the train?"

Sam considered and then pulled the box containing the key to the Men of Letters bunker out of his pocket. "We could try this." He tucked his gun under his arm and slid open the old wooden box to reveal the ornate key.

"Whoa." Dean slapped a hand out and gave Sam's arm a jerk. "Check that out."

Sam looked up and his eyes went wide. Beyond the aging hulk of green engine, he could see the back end of a brown box car that was suddenly wreathed in softly glowing, golden threads. They slowly moved and writhed as if alive, and he knew the key was letting them see the spellwork protecting the train. "Wow. That's kind of impressive."

"Impressively creepy." Dean took his gun back out and paced his brother as they rounded the old engine to get a better look at the train. There were four box cars and, Dean assumed, an engine at the head though they could not see it from there. The cars themselves were taller than those around them and he would bet money that each one had a second level. "Couldn't these guys do anything small?"

Sam walked to the rear of the last car and looked up at the heavy metal door inset on a small landing. He grabbed hold of the railing and pulled himself up onto the steps with a soft grunt as his stomach pulled painfully, not yet ready for so much movement.

"Be careful, dammit." Dean felt his skin crawling with the sense of imminent danger. He also did not miss the way Sam braced his left arm against his stomach once he was up on the train and scowled, once again wondering if coming out here was such a great idea to begin with.

Sam held the key in his hand and tucked the box back in his pocket. The golden lines of the spells flowed over the door in a tight web, and he wondered how they would react to being touched without the presence of the key. He cautiously stretched the key forward toward the lock and smiled as the spell lines tensed and then pulled away, repelled by some unseen force contained in the key. "It's working." Sam nudged the key into the lock and turned it. He heard the sound of heavy tumblers inside the door shifting and pulled the key back out once they went silent. The door popped open with a loud hiss of escaping air that blew his hair back. "Got it!"

Dean yelped as the train suddenly lurched back toward him. The bottom of the steps slammed into his chest and knocked him backwards. "Shit!" He fell across one of the iron tracks and all the air was knocked from his lungs. He saw his brother shoved forward and fall out of sight inside the train, and panic blew through him. He rolled to his stomach and gasped in a long, loud breath.

"Sam!" Dean scrambled to his feet as the train began to roll forward, wheels screeching against the rails. "No. No!" He shoved the gun he had managed, somehow, to hold on to in the back of his jeans and staggered into a run. "Sam, dammit!" The cars were picking up speed, and just as Dean was close enough to grab hold, an invisible force picked him up and sent him sailing through the air. The world spun around him in a dizzying display, making his stomach churn. As he flipped over, he caught sight of the bridge above the switching station pit and knew where he was headed. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he tried hard to let his body go loose, rolling into the impact as he connected with the concrete and gravel at the bottom. He had a moment to feel amazed that he had survived when something hard slammed into the back of his head and Dean slipped into unconsciousness.

 _ **-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

The sudden jerk of the train backwards stole Sam's balance and threw him into the open door. He hit the floor hard and rolled, fetching up against another wall a mere six feet inside. Behind him, the outer door slammed closed with finality on the sound of his big brother shouting his name. He rolled onto his side for a moment, cradling his stomach and the healing wound there. The fall had driven a spike of fresh agony through him and he had to catch his breath before he was finally able to move and get back to his feet.

"Dean," Sam gasped as he used the wall to push himself up until he was standing again. He went to the outer door and scowled in the light from the bare bulb above him. The handle refused to turn. He could feel the train moving and lurched into the door as it seemed to gather more speed. "Ow." He turned and looked around the floor for the bunker key, finding it in the corner. Sam knelt carefully and picked up the key as the inner door suddenly slid open. "Uh… hello?"

Sam quickly put the key safely in his pocket and drew his gun again. Oh, how he wished he had the weapons bag, but then, Dean might need it more. The light above Sam's head began to flash slowly. As he looked up at it, the flashing began to speed up and he was overcome with a bad feeling. The flashes grew in speed until it became a strobe light, and he followed his gut, moving quickly through the open door into the car. There was a last burst of light behind him and Sam turned around to find the entryway in darkness. "What the hell?" he muttered. He reached his left hand out tentatively and hissed as the darkness seemed to burn the ends of his fingers. Sam jerked his hand away and backed further into the car.

"Alright, not going that way just yet." Sam took a shallow breath in deference to his aching stomach and looked around him. The bulbs in the ceiling above him seemed in no danger of going the way the one in the entry had, for which he was grateful. The ceiling was low, only inches above his head, and made him hunch down, giving him the sensation of being closed in. "Shit."

Sam shook his head at himself as he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed his brother. "I'm an idiot," he muttered, looking at the floor-to-ceiling lockers that lined the hall on either side. Each door had a number and an arcane symbol on it, inscribed in what looked like gold. He wondered if they were for protection or identification. The line rang in his ear, and Sam's stomach tied itself in knots when Dean failed to answer and it went to voicemail instead.

"Dean. I'm on the train. I'm alright. I, uh - I think unlocking the door tripped something and kicked the train back into motion. And the exit's warded or something. I'll have to figure out how to turn that off before I can use it again. I'm gonna see what I can find in here. Just… call me back." In his mind, he was chanting 'please be alright' over and over. His gut told him that there was no good reason Dean wouldn't answer his phone right then. And if they were right and something _had_ escaped from the train, his brother could be out there facing it alone.

"Alright." Sam put his phone away and wrapped his left arm over his stomach as he moved cautiously down the hall. He resisted the urge to try and open any of the doors, though his natural curiosity was screaming at him. "I should head for the engine." He nodded to himself. "That's where I'd put an override for all the safeties if I needed to."

Sam eyed each of the lockers as he passed. A couple of symbols he recognized and realized they were containment spells to keep whatever was inside safely locked away. He reached the door at the other end of the car and cautiously pressed his fingers to the handle. He let out a long breath when nothing tried to kill him and pushed it open. Sam's eyes flicked up to the bulb in the ceiling and smiled as it stayed steady. He stepped into the connecting space between the two cars and let the door close behind him with a dull thump.

Sam adjusted his grip on his gun. The car gave a sudden lurch as the train turned, and he banged into the wall beside him with a pained grunt. He shook his head at himself, beginning to wish he had been honest with his brother about how much pain he was still in. Too late now, that was for sure. "Get it together," he ordered himself and straightened in spite of the burning pain in his stomach. Sam grabbed the handle for the next door and shoved it aside into the wall.

A dark figure rose up in front of him, blotting out the lights in the new car. Sam reared back and then narrowed his eyes. He could almost see through the thing, the shadow. The lights were a faint, dim glow through the inky blackness swirling before him. For a moment, he thought it was another deava, but then he rejected that. A daeva could not appear in the light. "What are you?" Sam breathed as he took another step back to the door behind him. Two spots, like burning embers, glowed to life in the darkness, and Sam could feel malevolence pouring from them like a physical blow to his chest.

"Crap," Sam groaned. He felt the handle for the door of the first car pushing into his back and twisted just enough to catch hold of it. He ripped it open as a roar filled the small space and he felt a hot breath rush up the back of his neck as he spun through and yanked it closed behind him. "Holy crap. This is… this is bad." He searched, but there did not seem to be any way to lock the door, and Sam groaned in dismay and startled as whatever he had stumbled upon slammed into the door. He grabbed the handle and worked to hold the door closed as it bounced open an inch with another impact.

Sam looked desperately down the narrow hall, but there was nothing except the lockers and their dangerous contents… and then it struck him. There was an awful lot of missing space in the train car. The lockers couldn't be that wide. He had missed something his first time through; a way out, of the hall at least. Sam glanced down at the door that had stood silent for several seconds and carefully stepped away. He slid his feet silently back and braced his free hand on one of the lockers as the train rocked from side to side. He jerked his hand away from the metal is it warmed uncomfortably under his touch and started down the hall quickly.

"Has to be another door," Sam muttered to himself. He studied each locker and checked over his shoulder, but the creature had gone quiet. "Where the hell is it?" He was nearly half the length of the train car when his eyes caught on a symbol on one of the lockers. He narrowed his eyes and felt a smile crack his face. It was an ornate arrow in a swirl of gold that could only be a compass pointing north. "Ostium," he muttered reading the single word in Latin. "Entrance. Nice." He grabbed the handle, pulled the door open, and gasped in sudden agony.

Sam looked down and saw a slim, dark shadow piercing through his right thigh and another cut through his left side far too close to where he had recently been shot. The pain felt like flames licking through his flesh. He looked toward the door where he had left the creature and followed the line of shadow piercing him to find more waving slowly through the air as though searching the compartment. Sam staggered back into the open locker and raised his gun. He fired at the shadows and the door and shouted when the shadows that had stabbed him pulled out of his flesh in a spray of blood as the thing roared from the other side of the car.

"Shit." Sam caught the edge of the locker and threw himself through, slamming it closed behind him as he fell to the floor. He pedaled his legs on the floor until his head thumped into another locker door behind him. Sam groaned and bit his lip to keep in the sounds of pain in case the creature could hear him. He stretched his left hand up, found the handle and opened the door. His upper body fell out into the other side of the train car and for a moment, he lay there with his eyes closed and tried to control his breathing while he could feel his blood slowly escaping his body, and that was a feeling he hadn't wanted to feel again so soon. "Dean."

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The world came back to Dean slowly. The first thing he was aware of was the throbbing of his head, like a bass drum between his ears. Next, he could feel the burn of bruised muscle and bone in his arms and legs and the beginning of a stabbing pain in his back that promised to make him regret his life choices later. He groaned softly and managed to convince his eyes to open sluggishly. He blinked, staring up the dark shape of a bridge above him, and sucked in a startled breath as the memories came back to him; the bunker alarm, the rail yard, his brother disappearing into the train, and something invisible throwing him across the yard.

"Sam!" Dean lurched up with the shout of his brother's name and instantly regretted it. He slumped back to the ground and wrapped his arms around his chest. "Shit." He rolled to his side and instantly jerked back, faced with the dead body of Bill Granger. He got stiffly to his knees with another groan. "Feel like I got bitch-slapped by Andre the Giant. Jesus."

Dean got shakily to his feet and searched the ground for his gun. He cussed, realizing he must have lost it somewhere above. He stumbled across the bottom of the pit to the ladder and spent a moment with his forehead resting against the cool rusted metal while the world swam around him. He lifted his head suddenly and would have rolled his eyes if he didn't know how much that would hurt. "I'm an idiot." He dug his phone out of his pocket and then froze as the already chilled air around him dropped several more degrees.

"Aw, you have gotta be kiddin' me." Dean pushed his phone back into his pocket and did his best to scramble up the ladder before whatever spirit that had already cleaned his clock tried to do it again. He reached the top, swallowing hard around the urge to throw his guts up in the gravel. Dean climbed to his feet and made his way back toward where the train had been and his heart squeezed in his chest with the sure knowledge that it was gone and Sam with it.

Dean scanned the ground for the weapons bag in the fading sunlight, senses alert for whatever had attacked him. His eyes stopped on the brown lump of the weapons duffel and he picked up his pace. "Stupid cursed train," he grumbled and knelt as he reached the bag. "Ghosts and dead, damn alien freaks…" He pulled the sawed-off out of the bag and got back to his feet. "… and a damn trouble-magnet of a little brother who can't keep his ass where I can see 'im. COME on already!" Dean shouted to the air. He could still feel the unnatural cold that was sending chills up and down his body. "I do not have time for this shit!"

The wind kicked up, blowing dust into Dean's eyes. He narrowed them so he wouldn't be blinded and ignored the burning ache in his chest. He could tell the impact from the train hadn't broken anything, but he wasn't looking forward to seeing the damage. "Come on, you asshat." Dean tensed as the trains around him rocked in a screech of metal on metal. He looked down and cautiously moved so he wasn't standing in the center of a track. He turned his head, looking along the tracks that had taken Sam away from him and wished he could force the damn thing to reappear so he could gank it and get on with the important stuff; like one missing brother his instincts told him was in deep shit. And every second he was stuck waiting for the ghost meant his brother was being taken further away.

"Ah, screw this." Dean ducked and caught the handles of the weapons duffel. He flung it over his shoulder and started away toward the dead man's house. The only means he had of tracking that train was back at the bunker, and he would have to hope his little brother could take care of himself until he did. He took two running steps toward the tree line, and the world did a lazy spin around him and took him to his knees. He put a hand to the back of his head to try and contain the pounding and wasn't surprised to feel blood drying in his hair.

"Get up, dammit," Dean snarled at himself. He settled the bag back on his shoulder and got a knee under him.

" _Murdered me."_

Dean's head jerked up as the disembodied voice carried through the air. He could hear rage in it and it pumped adrenaline through his system. He got back to his feet in a rush and had the shotgun ready as he started toward the tree line again. "Whoever you were, I didn't kill you, man." He turned as he reached the trees and jerked back another step as an apparition began to form in front of him. He brought the shotgun up and stared in surprise seeing the face of Bill Granger, their dead witness at the bottom of the turn-about. "How the hell are you a spook already?"

" _Murdered me!"_

"Nope." Dean fired his shotgun at the same moment the ghost raised his hands and he felt himself picked up - again - and thrown through the air, crashing through the trees.

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 _To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Crazy Train

 **Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

 **Info:** Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchesters' ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/Dean

 **Author's Note:** Having the boys apart for so much of the story is throwing me off. Lol Now I know why I rarely do this. So, expect me to fix that next chapter while still giving them some hiccups to work through. Heh. Also, I really didn't realize it had been two weeks since I last updated between work and the world-melting humidity here that has finally broken. Sorry, kids! *huggles*

 **Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

 _**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!_ _ **  
~Reviews are Love~  
Disclaimer: **__They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh._

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" _Murdered me."_

 _Dean's head jerked up as the disembodied voice carried through the air. He could hear rage in it and it pumped adrenaline through his system. He got back to his feet in a rush and had the shotgun ready as he started toward the tree line again. "Whoever you were, I didn't kill you, man." He turned as he reached the trees and jerked back another step as an apparition began to form in front of him. He brought the shotgun up and stared in surprise seeing the face of Bill Granger, their dead witness at the bottom of the turn-about. "How the hell are you a spook already?"_

" _Murdered me!"_

" _Nope." Dean fired his shotgun at the same moment the ghost raised his hands and he felt himself picked up - again- and thrown through the air, crashing through the trees._

 **Chapter 3**

Sam lay on the floor of the train, feeling the motions as it chugged along, and swallowed several times as his stomach threatened to crawl up his throat. His thigh and stomach burned with fresh pain, and, at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be back in the bunker with his brother hovering.

"Crap," Sam groaned softly and opened his eyes. He blinked up at the ceiling and grudgingly convinced his body to follow his orders as he slowly eased up onto his elbows to see where he was. He pressed a hand into the wound in his side, shoving his shirts against the bleeding, and pushed his aching body up further. A table ran the length of the back of the lockers from the other side of the car. Old, dated equipment filled the top, and arcane symbols were etched into the wall above them. The outer wall, as Sam turned his head to get a better look, was hung with a small armory of guns, knives, and stakes, most of them gleaming silver in the overhead light.

"Nice," Sam groaned. He could just picture Dean in here. His brother would be like a kid in a candy store. He used the table to get to his feet and then spent a moment hunched over it while the new fire in his gut threatened to take him back to his knees. He breathed through it and at last managed to straighten slowly. He studied the equipment and moved to one he recognized from the bunker. "Two-way radio."

The dials left a coating of dust on his fingers as he tuned them to the settings he remembered seeing and flicked the power switch. The device hummed to life, and he picked up the old, heavy microphone. "Dean? Are you…" He hung his head and set the microphone back down. "Of course he's not there. Stupid, Sam." They were hours from the bunker. He shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs no doubt caused by blood loss. "Gotta think clearly."

He staggered across to the wall of weapons and went toward the front of the car where the silver stopped glimmering in the light and the weapons had a darker sheen. He smiled, reaching out and ran his fingers down a blade made of iron. Sam tugged it off the wall and then his eyes caught on a narrow door set in the corner. He cut his eyes back to the door he had come through but for the moment, there was no sign of the thing that had attacked him.

Sam went to the door and cautiously slid it open. "Huh," he grunted, finding a ladder leading up. "Great." He slid the blade of the iron knife into his belt and took a deep breath with the sure knowledge that climbing up there was going to be pure agony with his new injuries. "Couldn't just… put in stairs…" Sam gasped as his thigh protested on the third rung, and he rested his forehead against the cold metal while he caught his breath. "… like normal people? Shit."

The rocking of the train threatened to make him lose his grip, and he held on more tightly as he began moving again. Sam reached the top with sweat trickling down his forehead from the strain. He stepped off onto a small landing and caught the handle of the door, easing it open.

"Hello?" Sam called softly. He shook his head at himself thinking there could possibly be anyone alive on the train after so many decades with no one to monitor it, let alone with the evil he had already run into prowling the cars. Unlike the floor below, where the lockers divided the car in half, the second floor was open and contained more electronic equipment on tables bolted to the floor with dusty chairs tucked under them. Sam instinctively ducked his head a little at the low ceiling and went to the nearest table, using it to prop himself up. He ran his fingers over a decades-old, oddly oversized version of a typewriter and stared.

"Wow. A teletype machine?" Sam leaned over to see the roll of paper inside and carefully lifted it out. Dust sifted into the air and he ruthlessly squashed the urge to sneeze, knowing what that would do to his newly ventilated gut. He held up the roll once he had it free and blew the rest of the dust from the paper to reveal a few, clipped sentences, the last the machine had ever received.

"Security breached. Initiation ceremony attacked. No survivors. Retreat to…" Sam scowled and rubbed his finger along the paper hoping for more information and sighed realizing that whoever had sent the message in 1958 had not lived long enough to finish it. He set the roll back into the machine with a sad smile and thought of their grandfather, Henry. He wondered sometimes what their lives might have been like had Abaddon not destroyed the American Men of Letters, if their grandfather had survived to return to their father. He shook his head and turned away. "Wouldn't have mattered," he muttered, knowing full well that little would have changed. Their lives had been rigged by heaven and hell before they were even born.

Sam turned away from the machine and spotted a door at the front of the car. He swayed with the motion of the train and went to it. He turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open, relieved to see an empty connecting room with no sign of the thing from below. "Please don't be waiting for me," he whispered to himself as he stepped across to the next car and tried to open the door. He frowned when it remained stubbornly closed. "Oh, right." Sam rolled his eyes at himself and fumbled the key out of his pocket. He found a slot for it beside the door, slid it in, and there was a soft flash of light around the outline of the door. Sam tucked the key back into his jacket and eased the door open onto another silent compartment. He looked down at his feet, wary of the fact that he had last seen the creature in that exact spot below, and he moved into the new car without a sound, keeping his footfalls silent, and eased the door closed behind him just as quietly.

Like the car he had just left, the floor of the new one was open as well. But rather than tables and equipment, it was crowded with display cases, and the walls were lined with shelves that were cluttered with curse boxes. Sam swallowed nervously surrounded by so many potentially deadly artifacts, especially when he was already so badly injured, and, more importantly, without his brother around to back him up.

"Awesome." Sam muttered and then froze as his voice seemed to echo hollowly in the air. He looked around the room but saw no sign of the shadow creature from below. He put a hand up to rub it uneasily over his face and stopped with a grimace at the sight of his own blood. He shook his head and started his way across the car to the front and the next door he could see, being attentive to keep his movements and his voice silent. He didn't want the thing below to realize where he was as he inched his way slowly toward the next car. Sam looked in each glass case as he passed. One contained a gleaming dagger that looked as though it had just been polished with a wicked, curved blade that seemed to wink at him in the light. He turned his head away and looked in another, seeing what appeared to be an old pinhole camera box. He wondered what sort of curse it held to require the spells he could see carved in the wood of the lid of the case around it.

Sam wondered which of the objects in the room had reacted to his voice and stopped in the center of the car to stare down into a case. It held a horn made of what looked like ancient, yellowed bone. He narrowed his eyes and leaned over for a closer look. A thin crack ran its length and even through the glass, he felt a 'pull' to touch it. He shook his head and leaned back, absolutely sure that opening that particular case would be a bad idea.

The sudden, shrill ring of his phone startled Sam so badly he gasped. He saw the horn in its case begin to vibrate as he backed away and a moment later, the sound of his phone began to fill the car, getting louder and louder with each echo. "Shit!" he cursed and that too joined the sound of his phone. He squinted and dug his phone from his pocket while the volume of the echoes became painfully loud. The glass cases around him started to rattle. Sam frantically cut off the call he saw from his brother and slapped his hands over his ears as he staggered toward the far door. The echoes kept going, the magnified sound of his phone and his own voice chasing each other through the air. Sam spun unsteadily as a thumping, banging joined the noise reverberating in the car, and he knew it was the creature from below following the noise.

The ringing and pounding amped up even higher, making Sam's ear drums feel as though they were going to rupture. He stumbled forward toward the door to the next car and went to his knees as he began to feel the sound vibrating through his bones.

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Dean groaned, lying on his back in the late Bill Granger's back yard, staring up at the sky. He coughed and wheezed in several breaths once his lungs started to cooperate. "Holy… shit," he moaned and rolled to his side, looking back toward the rail yard. He let his head drop in relief to find Granger's ghost was momentarily gone thanks to a round of rock salt. He forced his aching body to move, getting to his feet, and dragged the heavy weapons bag up with him. Dean gave a last look behind him, loathe to leave the last place he had seen his brother and knowing he had no choice. He trudged across the overgrown lawn toward the front of the dilapidated house and the Impala, keeping the shotgun ready in case the spirit reappeared and tried to throw him through some other damn thing.

The comfort of the driver's seat made him slump over the wheel for just a moment before Dean's eyes were drawn to the empty passenger seat. He swallowed around a lump of worry and dug his phone out of his pocket as he started the engine. He dialed his brother and put it to his ear, pulling away from the house.

"Pick up, Sammy. Come on. Pick up," Dean muttered as the line rang and then went to voice mail. "Shit!" He scowled at his phone and dialed his brother again, listening to the line ring through yet again with no response. "Sammy, I'm alright. I'm headed back to the bunker so I can track that damn train and come find you. You hear me? You stay alive, dude. I'm gon'be pissed you get dead on me." He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket with a bad feeling sinking in his stomach.

Dean blinked to clear his annoyingly blurry vision. He jerked the Impala straight on the road as he drove and blew out a breath. "This job sucks."

The drive back to the Men of Letters bunker seemed to take forever, though he made it in just under two hours. Dean considered it a miracle he hadn't been pulled over for speeding as he struggled out of the driver's seat and had to hunch over the hood with his sore ribs. He rested his head on the cold metal of the roof before shoving himself up and moving. He dragged his cell out of his pocket and again dialed his brother. He hadn't trusted himself with a concussion to dial and drive and had spent every moment of the drive back hoping his phone would ring but there had been nothing.

Dean put the phone to his ear as he started the arduous, slow climb up the stairs from the garage. He stopped, leaning against the wall when he heard it pick it up. "Sammy?" He heard the sound of heavy breaths and a screaming racket muffled in the background before his brother's voice answered him.

" _Dean."_

"Holy crap, Sam." Dean hung his head, relieved, and smiled. "Hey, you alright? What the hell happened?" He listened to his brother's ragged breathing again and his smile turned to a frown. "How bad is it? And don't bullshit me." He heard Sam's soft huff of a laugh and it was tinged with obvious pain.

" _I'm alright."_

"Bullshit." Dean turned and eased himself down to sit on one of the stone steps as his head began to swim again. He ran his fingers gingerly over the cut on the back of his head.

" _Lost a little blood, but, uh, I'm good. I mean, it's not good, but I've had worse. I can handle it._ _Are you all right? What happened?_ _"_

Dean sighed. "Granger's super-powered ghost showed up and kicked my ass." He snorted. "Damn near cracked my head open. There, I was honest. Now how bad are you hurt, bitch?" He smiled, hearing Sam's chuckle.

" _Aright just… don't freak out, jerk"_

"Sam?" Dean asked, hearing his brother take a deep breath.

" _There's something loose on the train. Don't know what it is yet, but it, kind of, stabbed me a little. It's not that bad!"_

Dean's eyes widened and fear threatened to choke him. "Stabbed you? A little? What the hell does that even mean?" He struggled back to his feet and started up the stairs again. In his mind were images of his brother bleeding out yet again. "Where'd it get you?"

" _Focus, Dean. We need to stop this train. I'm heading for the engine. Maybe I can stop it or turn off the wards or something."_

Dean paused when he heard his brother hiss in pain. "Sammy?"

" _I'm ok. Just… trying to stop my leg from bleeding. Got me in the stomach too, but… I'll be fine."_

"Where in the stomach?" Dean demanded and softly cursed. His brother's gut was still healing from having been shot; the last thing he needed was to be stabbed there too. He heard his brother grunt and curse and shook his head as he started down the hall toward the library.

" _It's, uh… crap, I can't see the entry wound. Went right through me, but, uh, I don't think it… crap… don't think it hit anything vital this time."_

"That does _not_ make me feel better, Sammy. Shit." He could practically hear the faint confusion in Sam's voice, as if even forming proper sentences required thought… like what happened with too much blood loss. Dean knew. He'd been there more than once. Forcing himself to focus on one problem at a time, he leaned on the table when he reached the war room and then went to the console monitoring the train. "What the hell's that racket?" he asked, as the sound of something ringing and pounding echoed in the background over the line.

" _Cursed object in the car behind me. Magnifies sound. Had to crawl out of there. Couldn't hear anything until about ten minutes ago. Sorry I didn't call soon… sooner."_

Dean heard him cough and moan and gritted his teeth with the need to get to his brother before it was too late. "And?"

" _It was drawing the… whatever it is. So I set my alarm and tossed my watch in. Figure that should keep it off my back for a while. I hope."_

"Any chance you can just stay where you are 'til I get there?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer and not liking it.

" _I don't think so. I need to keep moving."_

"I'm gonna figure out how to get on the train. You just… watch your ass, Sammy." Dean watched the little glowing light that symbolized the train on the map and the way it slowly moved East.

" _I've got the key, Dean. You can't get on."_

"I'll figure it out," Dean said firmly. "We're just lucky I didn't seal the garage when we left." He heard Sam's laugh. "Find something to stop the bleeding with, and if you can't get to the engine, just… find somewhere safe and hole up. I'm comin', alright?"

" _I think I hate trains now."_

Dean gave a laugh of his own and smiled. "Be careful, Sam." He cut the connection with difficulty and put his phone in his pocket. Not for the first time, Dean wished he could call Castiel for help, but that was never going to happen until they found a way to get Lucifer out of their friend; their family. "Dammit, Cas," Dean sighed and thumped a fist into the console. "Alright." He looked around, seeking inspiration and then remembered he had left their bag, along with the books on the train, down in the car.

Dean groaned. "Son of a bitch." He sucked in a breath and headed back down to the garage. It took him far longer than he wanted to think about to get down the stairs and back up again with his head repeatedly trying to knock his legs out from under him. He managed to get himself set up at the table nearest the console with the books he needed, the laptop, one cup of coffee, one bottle of hunter's helper, and a fistful of aspirin he hoped would kick in sooner rather than later. He leaned back in his chair for a moment and then pulled the manual they had found for the train over. He flipped it open randomly with an angry motion and let the pages fall where they may, wishing they had never gone to check out that train in the first place.

Dean leaned forward, grabbing his coffee as he looked down at the book and froze as the words he was looking at came into focus. He set the coffee mug back down with a thump and wide eyes. "No fuckin' way," he breathed and pulled the book closer. Somehow, he had opened it to exactly the page he needed, seeing instructions for gaining an emergency entrance onto the train. Dean looked up and around the bunker with narrowed eyes. "Kevin?" He called to their ghostly friend and felt the barest brush of a cold breath across his jaw but there was no answer. He nodded and smiled sadly. "If that _was_ you, thanks, buddy."

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Sam shoved his aching, abused body up from the floor, using the wall to keep his feet when all he really wanted to do was sleep for a month. Hearing his brother's voice had helped to galvanize him and give him the energy to continue on through the train. He opened the door to the next car and stepped through, letting it close behind him and let out a breath as it locked away the noise from the last car. He looked in surprise, finding two rows of military style cots along either side of the car. For a moment, he was tempted to throw the dusty blanket off of one and rest for just a minute, but he knew his chances of ever getting back up were slim. Instead, he turned to a narrow set of stairs beside him and cautiously moved down to the car below.

His left leg threatened to go out on him at the bottom of the stairs, and Sam thumped into the wall of the car to hold himself up. "Crap." He looked down and saw that the upper leg of his jeans was darkened with his own blood. Sam hobbled a few feet to a chair beside a square, folding table and pulled it out, dropping down gracelessly to sit. He reached out and nudged a hand of cards still lying out in an abandoned game of poker. "Left in a hurry."

Sam shrugged out of his jacket and then unbuttoned his flannel, pulling that off as well. He shivered in his t-shirt, took his pocket knife out, and began cutting his flannel into wide strips. He made the mistake of leaning back and grunted in pain as the open wound in his back pressed against the wood. "I am not having the best day ever," he muttered and carefully bent to wrap a make-shift bandage around his thigh and stop the bleeding.

Sam slumped forward over the table once he was finished with his leg and then started on the laborious process of getting a useful bandage around his middle and the two stab wounds. He was panting by the time he finished and let his t-shirt drop. He coughed lightly, wincing at the fresh pain and the memory of fighting for his life against werewolves while gut-shot. His head did a dizzying spin and, in deference to the blood he had lost, he let himself rest his head down on his bent arms for just a moment to catch his breath.

A particularly hard jolt of the train rocking side-to-side brought Sam awake with a gasp. He jerked his head up from his arms, wiping his damp jaw on his bare arm, and looked around in confusion. "What?" he asked hoarsely of no one and then thought to take out his phone and check the time.

"Shit!" Sam bolted to his feet and nearly went back down with the pain the sudden movement cost him. "How the hell did I lose four hours?" He hastily dialed his brother. "Dean?"

" _Sam, how you doin'?"_

Sam smiled, unsurprised that his brother's first question was about his health. "Hanging in there. Hey, I, uh… fell asleep."

" _You mean you passed out from blood loss. Don't sugar-coat that crap, Sam. Not to me."_

"Yeah, alright. Passed out. But I'm awake now. What'd I miss?" Sam listened to his brother and heard the sound of wind blowing across the speaker and then above that, the whinnying of horses. "Dean? Where are you?" He heard his brother's chuckle and scowled. "Why do I hear horses?"

" _Getting ready to pull a train job, Sammy. Old school. I've got a way in on top of the fourth car. Gotta go. Hey! Get back here!"_

Sam's brows flew up with the realization that his brother was shouting at one or more horses as the line went dead. He stared at his phone. "No way. He wouldn't." And yet, Dean certainly couldn't drive the Impala up to the moving train and hop on. He smirked and then began to chuckle, holding his hand against his wounded stomach. "Oh, man. This I have to see." He pocketed his phone and headed for the next and fourth car to meet his brother.

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 _To Be Continued…._


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Crazy Train

 **Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

 **Info:** Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchesters' ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/Dean

 **Author's Note:** Start with Dean. Start with Sam. No, start with Dean. Wait, start with Sam…. The thought process that's been kicking my ass the last few days while I tried to start this chapter. ROFL My muse is a fickle bitch.

 **Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

 _**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!_ _ **  
~Reviews are Love~  
Disclaimer: **__They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh._

 _ **-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

" _Sam, how you doin'?"_

 _Sam smiled, unsurprised that his brother's first question was about his health. "Hanging in there. Hey, I, uh… fell asleep."_

" _You mean you passed out from blood loss. Don't sugar-coat that crap, Sam. Not to me."_

" _Yeah, alright. Passed out. But I'm awake now. What'd I miss?" Sam listened to his brother and heard the sound of wind blowing across the speaker and then above that, the whinnying of horses. "Dean? Where are you?" He heard his brother's chuckle and scowled. "Why do I hear horses?"_

" _Getting ready to pull a train job, Sammy. Old school. I've got a way in on top of the fourth car. Gotta go. Hey! Get back here!"_

 _Sam's brows flew up with the realization that his brother was shouting at one or more horses as the line went dead. He stared at his phone. "No way. He wouldn't." And yet, Dean certainly couldn't drive the Impala up to the moving train and hop on. He smirked and then began to chuckle, holding his hand against his wounded stomach. "Oh, man. This I have to see." He pocketed his phone and headed for the next and fourth car to meet his brother._

 **Chapter 4**

The wind whistled past Dean's ears, stealing all sound but the thundering from beneath him. He bent further over the back of a dappled, black and white stallion and couldn't help but grin as they galloped toward the train carrying his brother. He slapped the tailing ends of the reins into the horse's rump behind him with a shout, kicking to urge the beast on to greater speed as they ran toward the tracks and the approaching train. He would have only one chance to get aboard, he knew, or have to wait and hope his brother could reach the engine and stop it. Dean gave a whoop as they reached the tracks and tugged on the rains to set the horse running alongside them. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the engine growing closer. He ducked his head back down to hide from the air rushing past his face and worked to catch his breath and ignore the pounding in his head. Galloping on horseback was probably not something recommended for anyone with a concussion.

Dean squeezed his legs more tightly around his mount, worried that he would be bounced off. It had been a long damn time since he had ridden a horse; since his teens and a two week job on a dusty ranch with his dad while his little brother had been laid up with the flu at Bobby's. Dean allowed himself a smile at the memory; the riding had been the only thing that had made being separated from Sam not suck. Dean gave a short yelp as he felt himself start to list sideways and put his attention back on the horse, doing his best to let the horse move and his body roll along with it. The sound of the locomotive's engine registered above the wind and pounding of hooves. He glanced back again and saw the engine just behind them and gaining fast.

"Shit," Dean cursed, his voice torn away by the wind. The train was moving faster than he had thought it would be. He urged the tiring horse faster and flinched away reflexively as the train roared up and rumbled beside him. He waited for the engine to pass and stood cautiously in the stirrups as the first of the cars appeared over his shoulder, the car nearest the engine and the one he needed.

"Hi-ho, friggin Silver," Dean muttered as he balanced a foot precariously on the heaving saddle. This looked a lot easier when they did it in the movies. He spotted a rusty ladder coming up on him fast along the side of the car, took a deep breath, and threw himself toward it as he pushed off the saddle.

Dean felt the toe of his left boot catch briefly in the stirrup and yelped as it ruined his upward momentum. He caught the bottom rung of the ladder in his right hand, jerking his shoulder painfully, and his boots dropped to scrap and drag in the loose rock along the tracks. He hung from one arm, breathless with fear, as the motion of the train tried to drag him under the car and onto the rail. Dean saw his horse veer sharply away now that he was free and got his other hand up to the ladder. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up with a roar of effort. He was gasping for breath by the time he got both feet on the bottom of the ladder. Dean wrapped his arms around it and rested his forehead against the cold metal with his eyes closed, taking a moment to be grateful he was still alive. Facing monsters was one thing, and after a lifetime of practice, he was able to tamp down the fear and get the job done, but this was different. This was luck and strength against an implacable mechanical behemoth; he felt like a bug on a windshield and let loose a breathless, slightly-crazed laugh.

"Holy crap." Dean lifted his head at last and looked back to see his horse grazing in the field. The farm he had "borrowed" him from was not that far, and Dean was certain he'd find his way home in time for dinner. He tossed a salute and a silent thanks to the stallion before the tracks curved and took him out of sight. Patches of rust flaked off beneath his hands as he climbed to the roof of the tall car. More than once, the wind pulled at the heavy pack on his back, and the motion of the train threatened to knock him loose but he held on. He reached the top, pulling himself up onto the roof of the car and laid flat, shaking his head and laughing at himself and the crazy their lives too often became.

Dean huddled against the roof of the car and lifted his head. He crawled slowly toward the front of the car with the wind in his face, stealing his breath, and stopped at the hatch he had been looking for. It was only a couple of feet square, just enough room for him to squeeze through he guessed, and covered in an intricate design of protective spells etched into the metal. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and knew it was Sam calling, though he didn't bother to answer it; there was no way he could hear his brother over the rushing wind. He pulled a knife from the sheathe at his waist and ducked his head down, trying to catch his breath while he shoved his left sleeve up.

The blade glinted in the fading daylight as Dean dragged it across the inside of his forearm. He grimaced at the fresh burn of pain as he tucked the knife away and held his arm above the hatch. His blood trickled steadily from the open wound down onto the hatch and seemed to follow the lines of the spells as he watched. Dean ducked his head again and wished that Sam was there to say the words that would break the seal. He waited until every carving was coated in his blood, having to lean further over it to keep the wind from whipping it away. He squeezed the cut, encouraging the blood to flow faster, then pulled the index card out of his jacket and held on to it firmly and hoped he would not mispronounce something critical.

"Ol zodonurensagi a canilu de a Urgraphgedunvehgon adagita a erem de iadnahmad. Ol surezodasa adana of gono a dooain de a samevelaji coredazoizoda." Dean scowled at his own pronunciation as he leaned back, shoved the card back into his jacket, and pressed his palm over the cut to stop the bleeding. "Come on," he muttered anxiously and his eyes opened wide as the etchings beneath his blood began to glow. Instinctively knowing what was coming, he spun away on his knees, protecting his face, as light exploded from the hatch in a blinding flash and a concussion of sound he felt in his chest knocked him backward in a tumble.

Dean's body rolled and began to slide toward the edge of the roof. He shouted and managed to wedge one foot against the top of the ladder to stop his fall. He stared down at his foot, only then realizing he had lost his boot when he had first jumped onto the train, and started laughing a little breathlessly. "Too old… for this shit." He crawled back to the hatch and grinned to find it open. He pulled off his backpack and lowered it through the opening, letting it drop out of sight. He swung a leg over the side and then looked up as his instincts suddenly shouted at him. His eyes widened fearfully seeing a tunnel fast approaching.

"Oh, shit!" Dean put his other leg down, knowing there wasn't going to be enough room for him between the top of the train and the roof of the tunnel. He slid his hips into the hatch and dropped. He grunted in pain as his chest caught against the opening. "Son of a bitch!" Dean raised his arms, kicked his legs beneath him, and dropped inside the train just as it entered the tunnel. He felt the tips of his fingers brush the stone roof of the tunnel before he thumped into the floor in a heap.

"Crap," Dean groaned long and loud and rolled off his backpack to the floor. "That's gonna leave a mark." He rubbed a hand over his back, sure that he would have the imprint of the sawed-off shotgun there later. "Sammy?" he called and got to his hands and knees. He looked up and reflexively ducked back down as the open hatch above him slammed closed with a loud, metallic bang. He looked up again and shook his head. "Great. Of course. Sam!" He looked around the car and scowled to see that he was alone.

Dean sat back on his heels and pulled his phone out while he got to his feet. He looked at his phone and saw a missed call from Sam but not voicemail. He dialed his brother and looked around the room. He was clearly on the upper floor of the car. The walls were lined with frames covered by black shrouds that still fluttered gently even though the hatch had closed. Each black cloth had protective sigils in silver that glittered in the overhead lights. His scowl deepened when Sam failed to answer his phone, and Dean ended the call, putting his phone away again. He bent stiffly and picked up the backpack, sliding the shotgun out before he put it back on.

"Sam?" Dean called again. He went to the nearest wall and caught the edge of one of the shrouds with his fingers. He started to pull it away, curious to see what was beneath it, and then thought better of it. He let it drop instead and moved toward a narrow set of stairs. "Bet they covered these up for a reason. Not gonna be a nosy idiot today." He smirked and could almost hear Sam's voice telling him to keep his hands to himself.

The stairs creaked softly as Dean moved down them, leading with his shotgun. He stopped at the bottom and shifted to peer around the corner. There were more frames covered in protected shrouds on the wall he could see, as well as several standing frames in the center of the car, bolted to the floor and swaying slightly with the movement of the train. He eased into the compartment, senses alert. "Sammy? Where the hell are you?" He pulled his phone out again, dialing his brother, and put it to his ear. The sound of Sam's ringtone carried through the air and Dean jerked into motion. "Sam?" He moved around one of the standing frames and saw his brother's phone lying on the floor. Dean put his own away and scooped Sam's up from the floor as it went silent. "What the hell's going on?"

Dean put his brother's phone in his pocket and tried to decide which way to go - toward the engine or back to the previous car. He looked at the door leading to the engine and shook his head, turning away toward the back of the car. Somehow, he knew that Sam hadn't gotten to the engine. He knew Dean was coming and he would have waited. He had moved only a few steps when he realized his hurried passing a moment before had blown up the corner of one of the shrouds, catching it on the frame to reveal the bottom corner of a mirror.

"Huh." Dean stopped and reached out to tug it back down. As he did, he saw a flash of movement in the glass. He jerked the fabric down and backed hastily away. He had clearly seen a face for just a moment; dark and terrifying, and he knew somehow that he had escaped something terrible by not being foolish enough to meet its eyes. "Jesus, this place is a creep-fest." He was careful to stay clear of the others until he reached the door and blew out a breath as he slid it aside and got out of there. He found himself in a connecting passage between the cars and stumbled, realizing as the door closed behind him that it was his brother's legs he had tripped on. He lost his balance and went to the floor on his knees.

"Shit. Sam!" Dean spun around and found his brother slumped against the wall and watching him with half-lidded eyes in a pale, clammy face. "Hey. Hey." Dean slid a hand over his shoulder and pushed him a little more upright. "You with me?" he asked and then spotted the too-large blood stains on his brother's shirt and beneath a hasty bandage on his thigh.

"Dean," Sam sighed his brother's name in relief, letting his eyes slip closed now that Dean was there. "Took you so long?"

Dean gave a soft chuckle even as he let his fingers rest against the pulse in Sam's neck and grimaced, feeling it race faster than it should for someone lying down. "Should have gotten a faster horse. Can't believe you missed it, man. I am the Lone Ranger."

Sam smiled weakly and opened his eyes again. "Heard you yelling, but, uh, didn't want to yell back and attract anything." He flicked his eyes to the door Dean had just come out of and shook his head. "That car gave me the creeps."

"Yeah, me too." Dean sat back and let the backpack slip off his shoulders to the floor. He brought it around and opened it to find the first aid kit. "Hey, check it out." He brought his right leg up and wiggled his sock-covered toes at his brother while he began to chuckle. "I lost my shoe."

Sam stared, then grinned, and finally began to laugh as he remembered a moment so many years ago when he had said the same words. "We are not having the best luck on this job, huh?"

Dean put his foot down and tugged the first aid kit out of the bag, setting it beside his brother. "Eh. We've had worse, long's you haven't been screwin' with any rabbit's feet in here." He smiled at his brother's snort of laughter. "Ok, lemme see what you've done to yourself here." Dean pushed Sam's blood-stained hands aside and tugged his shirts up out of the way. The make-shift wrap Sam had gotten around his stomach looked to have slowed the bleeding if nothing else. He carefully untied the knot and eased it away, grimacing in sympathy as Sam hissed in pain. "Sorry."

"You alright?" Sam asked and looked critically at his brother. "Saw you go flying before… did the train hit you?"

"Bumps and bruises, dude," Dean assured him with a grin. "Pretty sure my back and chest look like a Rorschach test right now." He rolled his eyes when Sam continued to stare at him; waiting. "Fine. Got some bruised ribs and probably a concussion. Now will you stop givin' me aneurism face and let me fix you?"

Sam shook his head again but with an understanding smile and pushed himself up another couple of inches to give Dean better access to the wounds. "I'm alright." He rolled his eyes when Dean gave him a look that clearly said 'bullshit'. "Didn't hit anything vital. It's just blood loss making me tired." He swallowed noisily as his stomach protested his movements. "And, uh, kinda wanna throw up."

"Yeah, well, don't. Not in here." Dean smiled at him and moved his head to let the light above shine on his brother's stomach. He hissed through his teeth as he examined the wound and then gently turned Sam so he could see the back as well. It was shallow, and whatever had stabbed Sam had thankfully stayed to the outside and gone through the meat of his side, painful but not life-threatening under normal circumstances.

Sam let out a soft groan and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I tried to catch myself on one of the mirrors in there." He needed to the next car. "Got a look at it before… there was something alive in the mirror."

"Saw that." Dean leaned back and dug through the backpack. He pulled out a bottle of orange juice, twisted it open, and handed it to his brother. "Drink that."

Sam smiled and took it. "Lost my phone in there somewhere."

"I've got it. Ok. This is gonna hurt," Dean warned him as he unrolled a pressure bandage. "We gotta get that bleeding under control."

Sam nodded, drinking half the juice thirstily. He had not realized how parched he was from the blood loss. "How'd you get the hatch open?"

Dean pulled the index card out of his pocket and handed it to his brother before he bent back down, pressing a thick square of gauze over the exit wound. He snorted a laugh. "My accent sucks." He watched Sam's eyes scanning the phrases. "It's Enochian. It means…"

Sam interrupted him quietly, translating the words easily into English as Dean fell silent. "I deliver the blood of the legacy to the Ark of Knowledge." He smirked. "Good description for this train. Uh, I swear obedience and faith in the name of the righteous man." He swallowed, crumpling the paper and tossing it to the floor. "Well, you are the righteous man. Again, apparently."

Dean stared and dropped his gaze because of course Sam could read it. It was Enochian. His brother had spent the better part of two hundred years hearing it. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and tried for a smile. "Friggin' Enochian. What's wrong with Latin, huh? Or English, for cryin' out loud."

Sam chuckled and tried to let the dark memories in his head slip away again while Dean wrapped the bandage tightly around his waist. "They probably figured Latin was too easy." He sucked in a breath against the fresh wave of pain as Dean worked. "It _is_ the language of the angels." He shrugged stiffly and shook his head. Sam closed his eyes, but his memories of being trapped again with Lucifer were too new, too fresh, and he felt as though his skin was crawling. He startled when Dean's hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

"Dude." Dean nodded down to his brother's lap when Sam's eyes flew open to meet his.

Sam looked down and realized he was pressing his right thumb into his left palm. He jerked his hands apart and took a shaky breath. "I'm good. I'm alright."

"Stone number one, Sammy," Dean reassured him and gave the back of his neck a squeeze before he moved away, He wasn't surprised that Sam was having a problem, after so recently being trapped with Lucifer again. In truth, he had been expecting a hell of a lot more fallout after they had escaped hell. It amazed him how well Sam had managed to hold himself together. "So, do you know what did this to you?" he asked, plucking apart the bloodied knot at his brother's thigh. He pulled the strip of what had once been a flannel shirt away and tossed it aside.

"Not sure. I think it probably escaped from the last car." Sam tugged his t-shirt down, shivering, and wished he hadn't forgotten his jacket in the last car. "It's filled with warded locker… crap." He slapped a hand out to his brother's shoulder and clenched his fist there while Dean tied a new bandage firmly over the wounds in his thigh.

"Take it easy." Dean finished and rested a hand on his brother's knee until Sam opened eyes in a pale face. "Man, we gotta get you outta here."

Sam nodded. "Help… help me up." He slid his arm over Dean's shoulders and took a bracing breath. Still, he was panting and leaning dizzily on his brother by the time Sam was on his feet. He felt Dean's hand on the back of his neck, the familiar, comforting weight, and was more relieved than he would ever let Dean know that he was no longer alone on the train. "Engine. We have to… should be able to, uh, stop the train temp… temporarily, lock up the whatever it is, set it running again."

"Lock it up, hell." Dean moved them both to the door of the car with the mirrors with and Sam's pain-filled gasps in his ears. "I'm gonna gank that bitch."

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 _To Be Continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Crazy Train

 **Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

 **Info:** Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchesters' ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/Dean

 **Author's Note:** I may finish this in the next chapter. *huggles* for all of you being so patient with my slow pace. Real life, may it die horribly, sometimes blows my focus to hell. In this case, we'll be moving in the middle of November out of Roanoke and to Seattle, Washington! It's terrifyingly awesome! I'm both sad and excited. LOTS of planning, packing, and scrimping to save every damn penny. :P

 **Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

 _**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!_ _ **  
~Reviews are Love~  
Disclaimer: **__They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh._

 _ **-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

 _Sam slapped a hand out to his brother's shoulder and clenched his fist there while Dean tied a new bandage firmly over the wounds in his thigh._

" _Take it easy." Dean finished and rested a hand on his brother's knee until Sam opened eyes in a pale face. "Man, we gotta get you outta here."_

 _Sam nodded. "Help… help me up." He slid his arm over Dean's shoulders and took a bracing breath. Still, he was panting and leaning dizzily on his brother by the time Sam was on his feet. He felt Dean's hand on the back of his neck, the familiar, comforting weight, and was more relieved than he would ever let Dean know that he was no longer alone on the train. "Engine. We have to… should be able to, uh, stop the train temp… temporarily, lock up the whatever it is, set it running again."_

" _Lock it up, hell." Dean moved them both to the door of the car with the mirrors with the Sam's pain-filled gasps in his ears. "I'm gonna gank that bitch."_

 **Chapter 5**

Sam looked up wearily as his brother slid the door open and let his eyes roam nervously over the shrouded mirrors in the center of the car. His skin prickled with tension. "I really don't like this place." He moved into the car with Dean and kept his voice low. "You know, there's all kinds of lore about mirrors stealing souls and being gateways for evil spirits; worse things than Bloody Mary even."

"Comforting, and let's not say that name too loud in here, huh?" Dean remembered his glimpse of something in the corner of the mirror before he had covered it again. "We could smash them," he said and didn't agree with himself even as he said it, and his brother shook his head. "Yeah, I know. That'd just give whatever evil shit's trapped there a thousand more ways out."

"Men of Letters must not have wanted to risk it." Sam coughed and groaned, holding his free hand over his stomach. "Or they wanted to study them."

"Morons," Dean observed softly as they slowly made their way across the car, careful not to disturb any of the shrouds. He even kept his breaths shallow, tension skittering up and down his spine each time one of the cloths moved with their passing. He didn't need to know what was behind each cloth to know that any or all of it was deadly; he could feel that in his bones.

"Door," Sam said, nodding ahead of them. He fished in his pocket with his free hand and brought out the key from the bunker. "Gotta be locked and warded. I would."

Dean nodded in agreement and took the key. He leaned Sam against the wall beside the door and tried the handle. It refused to budge as they expected, and he pushed the key into the waiting hole, giving it a turn before taking it out again. This time when he tried the handle, there was a soft flash of light and then the door slid easily aside. "Ok, here we go. How you doin'?" he asked as he took another look at his brother's pale, sweating face.

Sam swallowed around the lump of nausea in his throat and managed a smile. "Feel like a human dart-board, but I'm good. Let's go."

"Good, my shapely ass," Dean grumbled and was rewarded with an amused snort of disgust from his brother, as he'd intended.

"Don't make me hurl right now. Please." Sam gave a slow roll of his eyes he instantly regretted when the floor beneath him seemed to roll. Then he realized it was the actual train itself taking a curve, and he slumped into his brother to avoid banging into the wall beside him.

"Easy." Dean supported Sam's weight and slid the door closed behind them.

Sam could easily read the fresh fear in his brother's voice. The whole situation was far too similar to their time in the woods running from the werewolves. And Sam knew that, as much as he hurt and had bled, he was nowhere that bad off, whatever was running through Dean's mind just then. With that in mind, Sam leaned his head down to his brother's shoulder and sniffed loudly. He groaned and made a gagging sound. "You smell like you rolled in something dead. What did you eat this time?"

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed and gave his brother a gentle shake. "Not my fault I got tossed on top of a dead dude."

Sam smirked, pleased that he had successfully chased some of the concern from his brother's face. "Can't blame me. Usually, you smell like that, it's burritos."

"Bitch," Dean snarled fondly. He leaned his brother against the wall beside the door to the engine, relieved that Sam was well enough to give him crap.

"Jerk." Sam smiled and watched while Dean stuck the key in the door. A small section of the wall beside the door slid open and he hunched uncomfortably to get a look inside as a light went on, illuminating the interior. "What the hell is that?"

Dean shook his head and took a closer look. There was a small, raised area on the base of the alcove in the shape of a hand and a short needle in its center. "Aw, come on! More friggin' blood donations, that's what it is."

"I'll do it this…"

"Like hell! You've left enough blood on this train." Dean cut him off and put his own hand inside. He took a breath and slapped his hand, palm down and fingers spread over the device. He grimaced as the needle pierced the center of his palm and felt the quick, warm spread of blood against his skin.

"They _really_ wanted to make sure no one but a Legacy could get in here." Sam took an unsteady step back as red light outlined the door in front of them for a moment and then it slid easily open.

Dean took his hand back and wiped the blood on his jeans before he grabbed his brother again. "They couldn't have come up with some other kind of donation? I mean, I got plenty of fluids I'd be happier about squeezin' out."

"Oh, my god. You're disgusting," Sam groaned and laughed at his brother's grin, leaning heavily on him as they moved through the door into the engine. His eyes widened as he took in the space around them. Panels covered in lights and switches covered a wall that ran down the center of the car while, to their side, was a wall hung with clipboards holding sheaves of papers with 'Classified' stamped in red across the top and rows of numbers beneath.

"What's all this for?" Dean wondered as they walked cautiously toward the front of the car.

Sam looked at the panels and saw that each one had its own row of numbers stamped into the metal, and he nodded as he spotted one with red lights blinking. "I think they're monitoring the artifacts." He waved a hand to the wall of clipboards. "And I'll bet those have the manifest for each compartment and curse box." He stopped his brother and reached out to tap the panel with the red lights. "Wanna bet this is my stabby friend from the first car?"

Dean eased out from under his brother's shoulder. "Ok. You see if you can figure out how to rein in the spook-fest, and I'm gonna have a look at the controls."

"Go." Sam gave him a little push when Dean stopped to look at his face. He knew he looked rough. "I got this." He looked away and read the numbers at the base of the panel and then limped to the wall behind him, looking for the corresponding clipboard.

"You fall down again, I'm leavin' you on the floor." Dean chuckled when Sam flipped him his middle finger. He turned away, reluctant to leave Sam on his own, and headed for the front of the engine. He stopped at a military-green canvas curtain hanging across the car and pushed it cautiously to the side to reveal the nerve center of the train. He dropped the weapons bag to the floor and rubbed his hands together as he went to a single chair in front of the consoles and sat down. "Now we're talkin'."

Sam glanced over, hearing the glee in his brother's voice, and smiled. He remembered finding an abandoned, rusted-over train engine when they were kids and how his big brother had clambered inside. They had spent hours pretending to be train engineers before their father's voice in the distance had brought them back to reality. He shook the fond memory from his head. "Hey, I got it." He plucked a clipboard off the wall and wished there was a second chair. His legs were beginning to feel watery again, but he propped himself against the wall and flicked the cover up

"See if there's a way to gank that thing that doesn't involve us getting skewered." Dean ran his hands over the controls and wished they were labeled. "Hey, you remember that time we found that engine in the junkyard?" He heard Sam's laugh and looked over his shoulder to see his brother grinning at him with the shared memory. "Ya know, Sammy, technically, this is our train now." He ran a hand over the panel in front of him in the way he often did with the Impala. "We have a train."

"Great," Sam said and rolled his eyes, though fondly. "A train filled with super-spooks and other things that can kill us in seconds flat. Just what we always wanted."

Dean snorted a laugh. "Well, yeah, but still… our own train, dude!" He looked back to panels in front of him. "Long as I don't accidentally blow us up or something."

Sam let out a laugh at that and looked back down at the clipboard. "So get this." He limped closer to Dean before leaning heavily on the wall again beneath one of the lights. "According to this, that thing's just a ghost. But, like, a super-charged spirit. It's bound to a cursed rapier once used by Isabella de Carazzi in Naples in 1552. She dueled another woman, uh, Diambra de Pettinella for the affections of the infamous Fabio de Zeresola."

"She win?" Dean asked while mentally picturing two hot Italian women fencing. He smiled.

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He scanned the rest of the entry and sighed. "And then this Fabio guy rejected her anyway, so she took the rapier to him. They hanged her for it, but not before she spouted off some curse about rending the flesh of wastrel men for all eternity."

"Let me guess. This Fabio guy, tall, dark, and goofy lookin' like you?" Dean chuckled at his brother's bitch-face.

"Shut up. He was the rock star of bachelors in Naples back in the day." Sam flipped to the next page, reading. "Basically, he was you except with manners." He flicked a grin to the scowl on his brother's face. "I don't think we can gank her. She's bound to the rapier and, according to this, they never figured out a way to destroy it without setting her free. They tried to find her remains in Naples but had no luck; too old."

"It's never easy, man." Dean turned back to the console. "And don't think I'm not kickin' your ass later for that crack about my sex life."

Sam laughed softly and braced a hand over his stomach as the wounded muscles protested. "We're going to have to get the rapier back under the wards." He lowered the clipboard and frowned. "Question is, how did it get out of the wards in the first place? It's not like someone got on the train and took it out."

"We still don't know what killed Granger. Maybe it wasn't the Italian hottie." Dean shrugged.

"So, maybe he died and his spirit interfered with the wards around the rapier?" Sam shook his head. "I can't see a spirit being able to get on the train. I mean, they'd have thought of that."

"Yeah, but it wasn't meant to be stopped either. I mean not for long. Who knows how long it was sitting in the railyard before we came along." Dean swung the chair around to look at his brother and would have sworn Sam was paler than the last time he looked. "Bet sitting there in one spot put some chinks in the wards."

"That's possible, yeah." Sam nodded, letting his mind run over the possibilities. "They would have had to design the wards very specifically. The spells especially. A moving train would cause all kinds of problems. It's possible sitting idle allowed them to degrade." He shook his head. "It must have taken them years to work this out."

"So, say something not on the train offs Granger." Dean nodded toward Sam. "His wounds were different. Slashes not stabs, and he looked like he'd been strangled too. Then his ghost gets in far enough to screw up the protection on crazy lady's sword."

"His spirit probably went for the train because that's what he'd been trying to do right before he died." Sam leaned harder into the wall and swallowed around another attack of nausea. "Something on the train could have supercharged his ghost, too, like you said."

"Yeah; he should not have been that scrappy this soon." Dean frowned and stood. "Dude, you need to sit down. The dead guy had more color than you do right now." He moved over and took his brother's biceps in his hand and then froze, looking past him. "Uh… that can't be good."

"What?" Sam turned and saw red lights begin flashing on one of the panels. "That's the second car, I think. Where that crazy horn was. Isabella's spirit must be messing with the artifacts again." He watched the lights flicker, then turn green, and stared as the next row of green lights turned red. "Uh… I could be wrong but…"

"It's heading our way." Dean nodded. "Crap. Alright. How do we I-Dream-of-Jeannie this bitch back in the bottle?"

Sam looked back down at the clipboard, reading quickly and felt the tension in his brother's hand on his arm. "We stop the train. The safeguards aren't meant to be used while it's in motion."

"Good thing we were gonna stop it anyway, then. Don't fall down," Dean said and left his brother to go back to the controls. He wished now he had any idea how to actually drive a train. He studied the various knobs, buttons, and levers again and reached out to take hold of a heavy switch. "Here goes nothin'. Hold on to something, Sam."

Sam reached up and took hold of a bar along the ceiling. He groaned as the movement irritated his wound. "Do it."

Dean pulled the lever down and locked it in the down position with a silent prayer that he had chosen the right one. A moment later, the train rocked forward as the brakes began to engage. He could hear the screeching of metal on metal from outside and grinned. "Hell, yeah."

"Nice," Sam kept himself standing with effort as the train jolted again while it slowed. He had to let go of the bar above him as his wounded gut burned with fresh pain and was not surprised to feel Dean's hands catch him before he could fall forward to his knees. "Oh… ok. That hurts."

Dean steadied Sam against him, grimacing in sympathy at the breathless sound of his voice. "Breathe through it, buddy." He braced them both against the wall of the car as it lurched several more times before he felt it come to a stop. "Alright. Now we've done it." He looked over at the panels and noted the red lights had moved again and there was only one car between them now. "So how do we turn on these safeguards. Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam straightened with difficulty and only managed it because his brother made sure he stayed on his feet. "Uh, it just says initiate safeguard protocols if one of the containment vessels is breached." He gave a stiff shrug. "There has to be something in here."

"Let's try the other side of this." Dean thumped a fist against the consoles with the warning lights. "But you're sitting." He ignored Sam's muttered protest and pushed his brother to the engineer's chair and helped him sit. "Stay put. Watch those lights in case it tries to get in here."

"Don't think it can." Sam leaned over slightly to put some pressure on his wound. "Had to use your blood to open the locks. The ghost… she can't get in… probably."

"Reassuring." Dean eased around the row of consoles and found more waiting on the other side. "Alright, this is more promising." Each panel was labeled, and he ran his fingers over the lettering as he searched. "We got lights, atmospherics." He grunted. "These cars must be airtight. There's pressure gauges here, and this looks like a switch to turn it into a closed system like the bunker."

"If that malfunctions, we're screwed." Sam piped in. "We'll suffocate in here. No way there's any air left in whatever backup tanks they installed the last time someone was here."

"Yeah; probably not." Dean ignored the worry in his gut and moved on to the next panel. "What's this failsafe do anyway?"

Sam shook his head though his brother couldn't see it. "Doesn't say." He glanced up at the lights and swallowed. "She's in the bunk car. No artifacts in there. It's where the Men of Letters slept when they were on the train. That just leaves that creepy mirror car between us and her."

"Maybe something in there'll eat the bitch," Dean grumbled and then stopped. "Hey, got it! Failsafe control."

Sam looked up from the clipboard with a frown. "Hey, you don't suppose the failsafe would actually blow up the train, do you?"

Dean jerked his hands away from the console with Sam's words and scowled at it, considering the possibility. After a moment, he shook his head. "Naw. That manual you found, it said they couldn't destroy some of this shit, right? So, blowing up the train would just scatter it around for suckers to find." He groaned and shook his head. "Really wish this place came with a damn 'how to' manual."

"Dean?" Sam watched the red lights moving and swallowed. "The spirit it's… it's in the mirror car."

"Fabulous. Alright, I'm gonna start hitting switches. Heads up." Dean put his hands back on the console and pressed the largest red button. "Go big or go home."

Sam startled as a compartment in the wall beside him popped open. He hissed through his teeth at the pain the movement caused and leaned over for a look. "Dean?" As he spoke, a shrill alarm blared through the car. "I've got goggles and some sort of face masks here. They were hidden in the wall." The alarm sounded again in three short bursts and then went quiet. "Well, you definitely did something."

Dean backed away from the panel, rubbing his hands together. "Hey, we didn't blow up. It's like a miracle." He opened his mouth to say something more and at that moment, vents slid open along the ceiling. "What the…" He backed toward his brother as a white mist blew from the vents and quickly began to fill the car. Dean covered his mouth and nose and felt something burning his eyes, making them sting and water so fiercely that Sam was only a vague blur as he reached him. "Poison?"

Sam rubbed at his eyes and shook his head, coughing. "No. I don't…" He coughed again and doubled over in pain. He fumbled a hand into the compartment beside him and pulled out one of the masks. He slipped it over his nose and mouth, holding the cloth lined leather against his face while he caught his breath. He pulled out another and a set of goggles and pushed them at his brother, hand bumping into his chest. "Dean." He felt his brother take them from him and reached back into the compartment, coming out with a pair of the goggles for himself. Sam slipped the band over his head, settling the brass-rimmed goggles over his burning eyes and blinked furiously to try and clear his vision.

Dean fought to get the goggles over his head and held the mask over his face while he waited for his vision to clear. As he did, he realized what he was tasting as he had breathed in the mist. "Salt! Sam, it's salt!"

Sam nodded and then groaned as the mist wet his bandages and the salt reached his wounds. "Makes… makes sense."

"Hey." Dean knelt down beside his brother and grabbed his shoulder. The mist put a white haze over everything, but Sam was clearly having trouble. "You alright?"

"M'good," Sam assured him though he felt nowhere close to good. "Mist… probably holy water."

"That'd put down almost anything roaming the train. Yeah." Dean coughed a couple times and fastened his mask more securely. "Alright. I'm gonna head back to the last car and lock down your stab-happy girlfriend."

Sam snorted. "Coming with you." He ignored Dean's protests and managed to stand from the chair, albeit with Dean's grudging help. "Not staying here."

"You know you're a stubborn pain in the ass, right?" Dean glared at his brother but the effect was lost beneath the goggles they wore.

"Splitting up… bad idea." Sam panted, trying to catch his breath behind the claustrophobic feeling of the mask. "'less you wanna… end up like me."

Dean snorted a laugh. He made sure Sam was steady before he let him go and bent to the weapons bag. He slid both their shotguns out, handing one up, and then slipped the straps over his shoulders again. "Ok. You stay by me. This crap's thick enough I won't be able to see you if you get more than a few feet away."

Sam leaned on his brother as they moved to the back of the car. "No argument from me." He let Dean open the door to the connecting passage and noted how much thicker the salt water mist was inside. He braced a hand over his stomach and the burning ache there from the salt. "It's in here, this car. Her. The spirit."

"Yeah." Dean's eyes raked over his brother and wished he could tuck him up somewhere safe until he had dealt with the spirit. And he knew damn well Sam would never let that happen. He smiled where his stubborn brother couldn't see it and quickly wiped it away before he grabbed the handle of the door. "If she's on this level, we'll go up and cross."

Sam nodded. "Salt mist should… keep her from ventilating us."

"Again," Dean said angrily with a glance to the blood-spotted bandages on his brother. "You stay with me. Ready?" Sam gave him a nod and he slid the door open. The mist swirled heavily through the car as they stepped inside. The shrouded mirrors on their stands were dark shadows in the mist, and it made them feel more ominous rather than less, Dean thought. He took a few, slow steps into the car and stopped when Sam's hand tugged his shoulder back. He narrowed his eyes to see through the fog, wishing he could take off the goggles. They made him feel like he was trapped in a bubble and ruined his peripheral vision. A darker shape than the mirrors twisted through the mist, and Dean's hunter instincts told him it was the spirit.

Sam leaned harder on his brother to nudge him toward where he remembered the stairs to the level above were. He bit his lip behind the mask to hold in the groan of pain when Dean's elbow thumped into his stomach and followed, keeping his eyes on the twisting darkness in the center of the car. He startled as something crashed. The mist swirled, fogging his field of view more strongly, and he heard what had to be another mirror fall to the floor. The spirit was knocking them over.

Dean turned and caught his brother's arm, pushing Sam at the narrow stairs beside him. He hoped the salt mist was strong enough to keep whatever lived in the mirrors on lockdown. "Go," he whispered, and gave his brother a firm push up the stairs, steadying him when Sam staggered on the first step.

Sam pressed his hands against the wall to brace himself and moved up the steps as quickly as he could. He had no desire to have a second close encounter with the ghost who had already skewered him so effectively. He came out of the stairwell into the upper level of the car and moved aside for his brother. "Looks clear," Sam said as loudly as he dared, and stared into the gently swirling mist. As below, the shrouded mirrors were wavery shadows in the mist, but there was no sign of Isabella's dark, spirit form. He limped forward into the car through its center with Dean at his side, his brother's steadying hand on his elbow a comforting weight. The goggles, the mask, and the mist made him feel as though he had been swallowed and wrapped in gauze. It was smothering. Sam looked down as they reached the center of the car and knew with surety that they were directly above the spirit. He could feel it like an oily presence on his senses. He gasped and staggered back into his brother as a shadowy spear erupted from the floor at his feet.

"Shit!" Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him back. He looked around them and moved, pulling Sam with him between two of the standing mirrors. "Bitch is powerful! We gotta move!"

Sam put a hand out to catch himself on the wall and then yanked it back as he nearly pressed it against one of the covered mirrors. "Not good."

"Got ya'." Dean caught Sam against him before he could stagger into another mirror and dragged them both through the mist to the door. "Next car?"

"Bunk room." Sam pulled the key out of his pocket as the door appeared through the swirling mist.

Dean turned back to the car while his brother got the door open and squinted, trying to see clearly. He thought he saw something dark boiling out of the floor and cursed the less-than-effective countermeasures the Men of Letters had left in place. "Awesome." He heard the door slide open and followed Sam into the connecting passage. "It's not gonna hold her. This mist crap. All it's doing is slowing her down."

Sam nodded and crossed the small space quickly, then opened the next door. "We just have to beat her to the back of the train, find the rapier, and get it back on lockdown." He laughed softly. "No pressure."

"Come on." Dean slid under Sam's shoulder again so they could cross the car quickly. "You know which compartment we're looking for?"

"Think so." Sam swallowed hard several times as his stomach threatened to crawl up his throat. The nausea became overpowering and he groaned. "Guh… Dean." He bent forward and dragged the mask off his face as he threw up while Dean's arm slid across his chest to support him as his knees tried to buckle.

"Dammit," Dean cursed. He planted his feet to keep a better hold of his brother as Sam's body went heavy against him. "Come on, buddy. You're ok. It's ok. Just breathe, Sammy."

Sam gasped, coughing as he inhaled the salt mist, and spat onto the deck. He pulled the mask back over his face with a shaking hand and slumped into his brother. "Hate blood loss."

"Yeah, me too." Dean pulled Sam's arm back over his shoulders and moved them away from the puddle. "Get some O.J. into you and some red meat, you'll be good as new."

Sam gagged and shook his head. "No food. Don't… talk about food right now."

"Greasy pork sandwich in a dirty ashtray?" Dean said with a grin and heard his brother's snort of laughter through the mask.

"Shuddup." Sam smiled, remembering a long-ago conversation in a haunted hotel room the morning after he had drunk himself into oblivion. Dean had made him puke then and, oddly, it was a fond memory. He frowned, looking into the mist. "My jacket's in here somewhere."

"I'll come back for it after we put the ghost bitch back in time out." Dean grunted as his right hip banged into a table he hadn't seen. "What's in the next car?"

"Don't, uh… don't make noise." Sam coughed, working to ignore the pain in his gut. "There's a horn on the upper level. Thought it was gonna… shake the train apart." He let Dean take the key from his hand as they reached the other side of the car. "Think… I think it's actually the horn of Joshua."

"The horn of… seriously?" Dean asked in surprise. "As in, knocked down the walls of Jericho? Whoa."

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "Hell of a collection on this train."

Dean unlocked the door and shoved it to the side. He eased Sam through and spun back to the car behind them as something slammed into the other side. "Must go faster." He pulled the door closed and tugged his brother into a faster walk. "Still don't see how that bitch is traveling from car to car. You'd think there'd be wards everywhere in here."

"Must have been… been damaged." Sam frowned. "Maybe whatever killed Granger _did_ come from the train after all."

"We'll figure it out later." Dean unlocked the next door and took a breath. "Ok, silent running." He saw Sam's nod and slid the door open just long enough for them both to slip inside before he closed it again soundlessly. He didn't argue when his brother pulled him toward the wall of the car, figuring Sam had a much better idea what was in the room than he did. He saw a waist-high display case appear out of the mist and knew he would have walked right into it if not for Sam. He bent a little to get a look through the glass but could make nothing out with the fog half-blinding him through the goggles. They had crossed perhaps half the length of the car when the spirit of Isabella thudded into the door behind them. It vibrated the deck beneath their feet and urged them to move more quickly. As they did, Dean heard the impact again, and then again, as though it were being magnified in some vast echo chamber.

Sam pointed up to the floor above them, knowing the horn was picking up the noise, and all but dragged Dean the last few feet across to the next door. He didn't need to tell him to hurry as Isabella slammed into the door a second time, and the echoed sounds gained in volume, quickly approaching painful. The fog was clearly making it more difficult for the spirit to move through the train. He winced as another bang sounded and the horn magnified it into a roar. Sam clapped his free hand over an ear and ducked his head.

Dean fumbled the key into the lock while he gritted his teeth against the onslaught of sound and shoved it open. He pushed Sam through and turned, yanking it closed again while the whole car shuddered with the cacophony of sound. The closed door muted the noise, but he could still hear it faintly. "Holy crap," he gasped breathlessly.

"No kidding." Sam held an arm up, not arguing with Dean supporting him. He was running low on energy and wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and sleep for a month. The pain was exhausting all on its own, never mind the blood loss he had suffered and was still suffering if the warm trickle he could feel on his leg was any indication.

"Hey. You with me?"

Sam blinked and realized he had zoned out for a moment. Dean had him propped against the wall and a hand on his jaw, trying to see his face. "Sorry. Yeah. I'm good. Let's… let's hurry."

Dean scowled but there was nothing for it; nothing he could do for his brother until they made the train as safe as they could. The muffled sound of something crashing carried through the closed door behind them, amplified and copied by the horn. "That can't be good. Why isn't this salt mist crap stopping the damn horn?"

"It's in a glass case. Can't reach it." Sam planted a hand on the wall beside the door as they reached it. "Hurry."

"I know." Dean unlocked the door, stuffed the key in his pocket, and slid it open. He staggered along with his brother as the car rocked with the impact of the spirit on the door behind them. "This is not our best day ever," he said ruefully as the car rocked again and he let the door close behind them in swirl of white fog.

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 _To Be Continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Crazy Train

 **Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

 **Info:** Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchesters' ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/Dean

 **Author's Note:** I know. I've never gone this long with a story unfinished and I am so sorry about that! But as many of you know, we recently moved to Seattle from Virginia. Cross-country at a crap time of year for finding a job as well. This was NOT planned well. Lol But we're here and making the best of it. And I hope you all enjoy this wrap-up.

On another note, if you'd like to donate a little to help me out until I get on my feet here, every little bit would be appreciated. December is not the time of year to go job hunting. I hate asking for help for myself rather than others but this time I need it. Please give me a hand if you can, guys. You can donate to my Pay Pal at:  
kurriehoyt at gmail dot com  
Stupid FFNet not allowing outside links. Sigh. Lol

Know that the money will go toward rent, bills, and food. We're skipping Xmas gifts this year as we simply can't afford it. Never move cities in December. Seriously. Lol Thank you! *huggles*

 **Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

 _**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!_ _ **  
~Reviews are Love~  
Disclaimer: **__They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh._

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" _Hey. You with me?"_

 _Sam blinked and realized he had zoned out for a moment. Dean had him propped against the wall and a hand on his jaw, trying to see his face. "Sorry. Yeah. I'm good. Let's… let's hurry."_

 _Dean scowled but there was nothing for it; nothing he could do for his brother until they made the train as safe as they could. The muffled sound of something crashing carried through the closed door behind them, amplified and copied by the horn. "That can't be good. Why isn't this salt mist crap stopping the damn horn?"_

" _It's in a glass case. Can't reach it." Sam planted a hand on the wall beside the door as they reached it. "Hurry."_

" _I know." Dean unlocked the door, stuffed the key in his pocket, and slid it open. He staggered along with his brother as the car rocked with the impact of the spirit on the door behind them. "This is not our best day ever," he said ruefully as the car rocked again and he let the door close behind them in swirl of white mist._

 **Chapter 6**

Sam leaned tiredly against the wall as the door closed and looked into the softly glowing mist. "She's gonna catch up." He coughed lightly. "That's gonna suck."

Dean nodded. He pulled his shotgun back out and hoped the vapor in the air wouldn't screw with the firing mechanism. "She comes in here, she's gonna get a face-full of rock salt. Alright. What are we lookin' for?" he asked as he stepped across the narrow aisle and found lockers. He brushed his fingers over a swirling symbol on the first one.

"There was a mark on the file." Sam forced his body away from the wall and to the lockers. "Just need to find it. It's a Bowen Knot with a knife through the center."

"That's the thing looks like two infinity symbols crossed, right?" Dean nodded to himself and started down the row of lockers checking each symbol. "What do we do when we find it?"

Sam followed after his brother, swallowing against another bout of nausea. "Figure out what broke the protections and fix it." He looked over his shoulder at the door, but, as yet, there was no sign of the spirit. "That should, uh, suck her back in."

Dean snorted behind his mask. "Suck her in. Nice. That didn't sound dirty at all."

"Dude." Sam rolled his eyes with a laugh even his head gave a little dizzying spin. "Priorities." He leaned more heavily against the locker waging a silent battle with his legs to stay on his feet.

"Got it." Dean traced his fingers over the symbol on the front of the locker and looked back at his brother. He frowned, realizing Sam was nothing but an indistinct shadow in the fog. "Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam called back weakly. He lost his fight with his legs and slid slowly down until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the lockers. "M'good. Check the locker."

Dean's frown turned to a worried scowl, but he knew they were running on borrowed time. "Just hang on. Watch that door."

Sam nodded from his place on the floor. He wanted to get back to his feet. He was no good to his brother or himself sitting on his ass. He coughed and reminded himself that he had taken on a werewolf while gut-shot and killed the damn thing. There was no way he was going to go down now because of a lousy stab wound. "Get up," he muttered to himself. Sam took as deep a breath as the mask would allow him and began the slow, painful process of getting back to his feet.

"Huh," Dean grunted as he got the locker open. It hadn't even required the key and that worried him. The locker opened from floor to ceiling, and he waved at the mist as it swirled and tried to flow into the space, obscuring his vision. A red light glowed from the top of the inside of the locker. It flickered like drops of glowing blood on the blade of a long, dangerous-looking sword with a thin, tapered blade that he knew would match the wounds on his little brother if he bothered to check. Dean jumped with a curse when a hand slapped into his shoulder and he turned to see his brother beside him. "Warn a guy!"

Sam smiled behind his mask. "Shotgun."

"Right." Dean handed his brother his own. He couldn't see much of Sam's face around the mask and goggles, but what he could see was bloodless and pale. He could just hear Sam's ragged breaths and caught his elbow before he could move away again. "Hey. Here. You check this mess out. I'll watch the door." He took the shotgun back from his brother's weak grip and gave him a nudge toward the open locker. "You're the walking library of the weird anyway."

Sam caught himself on the open door and nodded. "She's coming. Be ready." Dean tossed him a salute and moved away into the mist until he was only a shadow. "Ok." He looked in at the rapier and shivered with recognition. He knew what that blade felt like cutting through his flesh. Behind the blade, an intricate scrollwork of whorls and labyrinths had been painted on the back of the locker. They completely surrounded it like an artistic border, and he knew instinctively that it had to be more than that; there was no point in decorating something that was never supposed to be seen. Sam pressed his fingers against the design and felt faint grooves. He rubbed the pads of his fingers down one of the lines and felt something flake off. He brought his hand back out and held it close to his goggles, trying to get a look. It was brown and smeared between his fingers with a familiar sensation, and he suddenly knew what it was. "Blood."

Dean took a step toward the door they had come through, ears straining to hear anything, and he staggered back a step as the car rocked with a loud impact from the other side. "You got that thing figured out yet, Sam? Cause' that bitch is about to be on us."

"Uh, yeah. Think so." Sam ran his hand over the wall inside the locker and felt a section of the metal give. He pressed it and it clicked, dropping out and revealed the same sort of blood device they had used to get in to the engine. He groaned and flicked his eyes in his brother's direction as the car rocked with another impact. He heard the tearing of metal through the fog and then the sound of Dean's shotgun blasting. "Crap. Here goes." Sam slapped his hand down on the pad and winced as the needle stabbed into his palm.

Dean threw himself to the right, slamming into the wall of the train as a spear of shadow slashed out where he had been. "You bitch," he snarled and watched Isabella's black cloud boil through the bent open door into the car with them. The salt and holy water mist swirled around her, and he saw the shape contracting in fits and jerks as though it were being attacked. "Just too damn strong, aren't you?" He fired the second barrel into her and grinned as she pulled back through the door. "Suck on that!" He backed away, feeling a sudden need to check on his brother. "Sam? How's it coming?"

Sam watched his own blood begin to appear at the top of the protective design and slowly fill it, glistening darkly in the red light. "Almost! Just have to… to power up the symbol!" He leaned his head against the side of the locker while his blood continued to flow. He could almost feel it leaving him through his hand, one pulse of his heart at a time. It was sickening, and he was in serious danger of throwing up again. He swallowed hard over and over to push it down while he waited. "'nother minute!"

Dean frowned. He knew that timbre of his brother's voice. It meant Sam was in bad shape and hanging on by a thread. He glanced at the door again but couldn't see it through the mist. "Shit." He turned his back on it and went quickly to his brother. "Sam, what's goin' on?" he asked and leaned into the locker for a clearer look. His brows rose under his goggles. "Is that…" he saw Sam's hand on a plate like the one outside the engine and then noticed the blood that was quickly flowing down to cover the symbol behind the rapier. "You should have let me do this. You don't need to lose any more damn blood!"

Sam shook his head and felt himself break out in a sweat. "No… no time." He stared down at his hand, wondering how much blood it had taken; how much more it would need. "Seems'like 'lot."

"What?" Dean asked as he heard his brother slur. "Dude, stop. Let me…"

"Almost." Sam stubbornly stayed in place, feeling his brother's hand on his shoulder.

Dean snarled and spun toward the back of the car, hearing Isabella's ghost crash through the door again. "Ten seconds, then I'm knockin' you down and finishing it myself." He fired a round in the direction of the door, and hopefully the spirit, and was rewarded with another screech of noise. This time, it was picked up in an echo that gradually grew louder and louder.

Sam watched his blood fill the design, flowing into the last lines at its base. He pulled his hand away from the plate and needle with a groan as it flashed a deep red, filling the compartment with more light. "Got it," he said hoarsely. The light glowed, surrounding the rapier, and Sam heard a single, clear tone ring out through the car.

Isabella's spirit screeched in defiance as Dean reloaded the shotgun. He looked up and saw her dark shape suddenly through the mist. "Shit!" He spun, grabbed a hold of Sam, and took them both to the floor and out of her way before she could barrel into them. He rolled to his back beside Sam with the shotgun ready and then watched as Isabella's form was sucked into the locker and the rapier. The black cloud boiled angrily, but at last it vanished and the locker door slammed closed, outlined briefly in a silver light before that too faded away. The echo of Isabella's screech was slowly fading, and Dean let the shotgun fall to the floor.

"Holy crap." Dean shook his head and rolled to his knees, turning to his brother who had yet to move. "Sammy? You still with me?" He got a low groan in response, and Dean dropped his head in relief for a moment. He grabbed Sam under his shoulders and hoisted him up, ignoring Sam's pained sounds, until he had him sitting against the wall. "Alright, little brother. You're gonna stay here while I run back to the engine."

"N… no." Sam fought his way back up out of the stupor the impact with the floor had driven him into. "Not alone."

"Dude." Dean smiled and patted Sam's shoulder. "You did it. The bitch is back on lockdown. I'm gonna run back and turn off the safeguards, then come back here and patch you up. Just stay put and stop bleedin' all over the damn place."

Sam relented and settled back against the wall. "Mirror car. She knocked a couple over. Be careful."

"I'm always careful!" He grinned.

"Are not." Sam closed his eyes, wishing he could remove the mask and goggles already.

"Sit tight." Dean gave his shoulder a last pat and got back to his feet. He picked up the shotgun and reloaded it just in case. He had to shove the door back into its pocket with a shoulder and winced as the resulting clang of metal set off the horn on the floor above. "Stupid biblical piece of crap horn. Oughtta go up there and load you full of rock salt." He muttered the words lest his own voice set it off even louder and jogged as quickly as he dared across the car to the other side. He found the door there in the same state, but it was jammed open far enough for him to squeeze through without making more noise. He adjusted the goggles on his face and steeled himself as he entered the mirror car again.

Dean moved through the mist, waving a hand in front of his face and groaning as it did nothing to make it easier to see. He walked carefully through the car, shuffling his feet and stopped when the toes of his right boot thumped into something on the floor. He knelt and found one of the mirrors face down on the floor. He warily lifted it up and was relieved to see the shroud still safely attached to its frame. He stood with it and eased it back until it was standing again. The shroud drifted with his motions, but whatever lived inside the thing was being safely held back by the salt and holy water in the air.

"Creepiest damn room I've ever been in in my life," Dean muttered as he felt around with his feet until he found a second mirror on the floor. He lifted that one back up as well and jerked his hands away when his fingers slid over glass that should have been cool and instead felt uncomfortably warm against his skin. He made a last, slow circuit around the car to be sure he hadn't missed one and then headed for the engine.

Sam slumped against the wall behind him and focused on taking even, deep breaths. His head was swimming and his stomach churning. There were few things he hated more than blood loss. He pushed himself up a little straighter on weak arms and allowed himself a heartfelt groan for the pain in his stomach since he was alone. "Crap," he gasped, pressing his left hand over the wound in his gut again. The mist made him feel as though he were wrapped in a stifling blanket and disconnected. It made his nerves twitch, unable to even see the lockers a few feet away from him through the white, gently swirling haze. Every moment that Dean was gone seemed to stretch on longer and longer, and worry for his brother began to override his pain. Sam took a deep breath and began the agonizing process of getting to his feet.

He jerked away from the wall when something thumped into the outside of the car on the other side. "What the hell?" Sam put a hand back to the wall to steady himself and then ducked his head as loud fans whirred to life in the walls and the salt and holy water mist started to thin as it was pulled from the air. Relief flowed through him with the visual evidence that his brother was alive and well at the front of the train.

"Nice, Dean." Sam watched the interior of the car around him appear and realized that every surface was coated in a damp, salty layer. He tugged at his t-shirt, noting that included himself as well. He ran a hand over his hair and felt the gritty residue of salt there as well and groaned. "Gonna take forever to get that out."

Sam walked stiffly and slowly toward the door his brother had gone through and leaned against it. He looked through into the next car as both doors were jammed partially open thanks to the spirit. "Come on," he muttered and smiled in relief as his brother appeared at last.

Dean gave a wave and walked silently through the car so as not to set off the horn in the floor above him. "Hey," he whispered as he reached and grabbed Sam's arm when his brother swayed. "You should be sitting down, genius."

"You took too long," Sam said and smirked while Dean steadied him against the side of the car. "Any trouble?"

"Had to pick up a couple of those creepy mirrors." Dean gave a visible shudder. "Never doing _that_ again."

"We need to get off and get the train moving again." Sam blew out a breath and curled over his stomach a little as a fresh wave of pain pulsed through him. "Longer it sits still, better chance something else breaks out or goes wrong."

"I'll do it, but first we're gettin' you off this crazy train." Dean's voice left no room for argument as he started easing his brother to the rear of the car. "Hopefully, we're not too far from civilization. Dumpin' your ass in the nearest E.R."

Sam snorted. "Dude, I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Dean leaned Sam against the wall beside the door and dug the key out of his pocket, opening it. He looked in to the small entry way and nodded, finding it empty. "Ok, come on." He slid under his brother's shoulder again as they crossed the short entryway and he fitted the key into the outer lock. Dean slid the door open an inch and startled back a step along with his brother as something slammed into the other side with a loud thump. "What the hell is that?"

Sam shook his head slowly and moved cautiously to the open crack in the door. He braced a hand on the wall and peered through the gap. He lurched back as something big and dark blocked out the daylight, feeling Dean's hand fisted in the shoulder of his shirt to steady him. "Can't get a good look at it," he whispered.

Dean scowled angrily as he moved Sam back another few steps. "Bet it's what killed that poor bastard at the switching yard. We never did find out what did that." He rolled his eyes and drew his gun, checking how many rounds he had. "Awesome." He flicked his eyes over his brother, taking in Sam's pale, sweating face, and the pain lines between his eyes, the minute tremble in his brother's fingers against the wall of the car; Sam did not have a lot of vertical time left in him if Dean was any judge. He opened his mouth and his brother waved a hand.

"No. You're not going out there alone." Sam glared weakly at Dean. "Give me a gun. I can watch your back."

Dean studied the obstinate set of his brother's face and then rolled his eyes. "Stubborn pain in my ass, Sammy," he muttered as he pulled his own gun from his back and handed it to him. "You stay back. I'm not carryin' your gigantor ass back to the car." Dean smirked at his brother's soft chuckle and turned back to the door, easing it open a little more. He glanced back, saw Sam's nod, and eased out onto the rear deck. He brought his shotgun up and scanned the area, listening, every sense alert for any sign of whatever was waiting for them. He could see nothing, but he could feel it, his hunter's instincts telling him that, whatever it was, it knew they were there and was biding its time. His skin crawled with the sensation as he moved to the edge and knelt down to hop off. His knees stung with the impact on the gravel between the rails, and he winced as the noise carried on the night air.

Sam squeezed out through the partially open door and leaned against the cool metal of the train car, watching while Dean moved cautiously away and toward his right. He moved to the left and slid his head around the corner. Sam looked along the length of the train stretching into the darkness and flinched when something large and dark dropped and vanished beneath the train. "Shit," he hissed. He moved away and spun to warn his brother, but Dean had moved out of sight. "No, no, no." Sam swallowed, resisting the urge to shout for Dean and give them both away to the lurking creature. He knelt with a soft groan and slid his legs over the side, dropping to the ground and barely kept in a yelp of pain as his legs gave out and he ended up kneeling with the rocks biting into his knees. "Dean," he called as loudly as dared. Sam turned his head, looking beneath the car, and reared back as several sets of glowing, red eyes peered at him from the inky blackness. "Dean! It's here!" He brought his gun up in a rush, leaning back and gasped; the eyes were gone. "What the hell?"

"Sammy?" Dean slid around the back of the train in a hail of gravel and stared at his brother on the ground. "What'd you see?" He followed the line of his brother's weapon aimed beneath the cars, and he dropped to one knee to get a look for himself.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. Lots of eyes. It's not there now." He swallowed and used his left hand to push himself up so he was sitting. "Moved fast. Thought it was flanking you from under the train."

Dean stared into the darkness beneath the train until spots danced in his vision, but there was nothing to see. He blew out a breath and stood. "Alright, this thing is pissin' me off now. Come on." He held his left hand down to help Sam back to his feet and had only the sudden widening of Sam's eyes as warning that he should not have turned his back to the train. He grunted as something heavy slammed into his back and bowled him to the ground with Sam's shout ringing in his ears. He heard Sam's gun fire twice before his head banged into the iron rail of the tracks and stars exploded across his vision.

"Dean!" Sam rolled to his knees, his own pain forgotten as the creature ambushed his brother. He fired twice into the back of the vaguely man-like thing on top of his brother and gasped, falling backward as it spun with an angry snarl and faced him. It had two arms and legs. Its torso was barrel-thick, and its skin looked like the sunbaked earth of the desert - cracked and brown and dry. The head that hissed at Sam, however, was what made him stare in shock. Six fleshy stalks like tentacles protruded from the top of the head and each one ended in an eye. They whipped to stare at Sam, and the wide mouth that nearly bisected the bottom half of the head opened in a snarling roar.

"Oh, shit," Sam breathed. He brought his gun back up and fired again, this time aiming for the head. He wanted to try for the heart, but the creature was too close to his brother and there was no clear shot without risking Dean. He scrambled back, pushing himself to his knees while the creature continued to stare at him. The creature turned and bent low over Dean's back, and Sam could see the eye-stalks lower to brush the back of his brother's head before it straightened and peered at Sam again. Its disturbing gaze focused once more on Sam, and this time he could feel an odd, tingling sensation in his mind. "What the hell are you?"

Sam dragged his left leg under him and shoved his resisting body to his feet just as the creature rushed him in a blur of movement. He fired the gun reflexively, hitting the creature just beneath its throat in a spray of blood, and then it was on him. Clawed fingers dug painfully into Sam's biceps as he crashed back to the gravel. His abused body screamed pain along his nerve endings with the impact, and he was dangerously close to passing out as the waving eyes lowered and touched his forehead.

A sensation of spinning and falling swept over Sam as he felt the sickening sensation of the creature's six eyes pressing against his skin. He struggled to raise his right hand and the gun. His breath froze in his chest, and he felt as though something was being sucked out of him, out of his mind. The creature's head drew back enough for Sam to see all its eyes staring down at him. Sam could see streams of faint light flowing into each of the eyes from his own mind, and he suddenly understood. It was feeding on his magic, on the power he hadn't used for so many years.

"No," Sam gasped in a bare whisper. Fear gave him the surge of adrenaline he needed to bring his arm up. He shoved the muzzle of his gun against the creature's chest, over where he hoped its heart would be, and pulled the trigger. His third shot made it rear back with a scream, and the draining sensation faded. Sam's gun clicked empty, and his hand dropped heavily back to the ground as the creature toppled off to land beside him with its clawed hands covering the bloody hole in its chest. He blinked heavy eyes, rolling his head to look for his brother. Relief flooded through him when he saw Dean struggling drunkenly to his feet, and he smiled.

Dean staggered the few steps to Sam and dropped back to his knees beside him. "Y'ok?"

Sam let his eyes fall closed and nodded. "Took you so long?"

Dean snorted a laugh and looked over at the creature where it still growled and writhed on the ground. "That is one ugly son of a bitch." He slapped a hand down onto Sam's shoulder. "Don't go anywhere." Getting back to his feet was harder than he thought it would be, and Dean tilted dangerously to one side, catching himself on the back of the train car before he fell and made an ass of himself. He looked over his shoulder and saw a smirk on his brother's pale face. "Shuddup."

Sam laughed softly and watched Dean climb back up onto the train and emerge a moment later with the weapons bag that he then tossed to the ground. Sam looked back at the creature and shivered as most of its eyes were still hungrily watching him. He shifted his gaze to his brother when Dean's boots stomped into his line of sight. "Had to come from the train. Must have been let out by Isabella's ghost."

Dean studied the monster and hefted the machete in his hand. He stayed carefully away from its grasp as it flung one arm out toward him. He nodded, seeing that Sam's shots must have done enough damage; it was dying. "Any idea what this thing is before I make with the off-with-its-head?"

Sam smirked and coughed before carefully rolling to his side and pushing himself up so he was sitting. "Uh, I think it's actually a beholder, which is just… impossible." He laughed. "I thought they were made up."

"A what now? Wait." Dean stared down at the creature and its waving eye stalks and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You mean those screwy basketballs with all the eyes from when you used to play D&D with your fellow nerdlings?"

Sam barked a laugh, bracing a hand over his gut and the wounds there. "Nerdlings. Jesus, Dean. Yes. That thing. This one's vaguely humanoid, but all those eye stalks can't be coincidence." He thought back to everything he remembered from playing the role-playing game as a teenager after school and again in college and his eyes widened. "That's what killed Granger! In the game, they're drawn to magic and strong enchantments. If they're real and…." He pointed to the creature on the ground. "… they clearly are, then this train would be like an all you can eat buffet. That's why it followed the train."

"This finish it off, you think?" Dean asked, giving the machete a spin.

"I don't know. I thought they were just fiction!" Sam blew out a breath and shrugged stiffly. "Give it a whack and see what happens."

Dean grinned. "Hell, yeah. I like this plan." He pulled the machete back above his right shoulder, holding it with both hands, planted his feet, and swung. The blade sliced cleanly through the beholder's neck, lopping off one of the eyes as he went, and the head rolled free with a last roar from the creature before it went silent. He nodded happily to himself. "Tell me _that_ wasn't a nat-20."

Sam stared up at his brother and then burst out laughing. "You played!"

"What? Did not!" Dean suddenly realized what he had said and cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Just watched your nerd ass enough times to, you know, pick shit up. Shut up."

"Uh huh." Sam snickered and braced a hand on the ground to keep from falling back over.

"I mean it."

"Sure, Dean."

"Gonna kick your ass."

"Better roll for initiative first." Sam laughed again in spite of how much it made his stomach hurt. It was worth it for the look on his big brother's face.

Dean rolled his eyes and stomped back to the weapons bag. He shoved the machete inside and jerked back a step as the train suddenly began moving. "Guess it's ready to go back on its route."

Sam took a deep breath and regained his feet, still laughing though he was mostly hunched over his gut. "Did you hit something in the engine?"

Dean shrugged and shouldered the bag. "Resetting the failsafes must have reset the whole system. I say let it roll and hope nothing else goes sideways. I am _not_ chasing this bitch down again." He went over to his brother and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Look." Sam pointed down and they both watched as the beholder's head and body began to dissolve.

"Saves me having to dig out the salt and burn it. Come on." Dean pulled his brother's arm over his shoulders and turned them off the tracks and toward the street lights he could see glowing beyond a line of trees. "Let's see if we can catch a ride back to the Impala." He looked over at Sam's face and shook his head. "And you're going to the ER, little brother."

Sam nodded, knowing there was little point in arguing. "You too. You know you've got the imprint of the track on your forehead, right?" He laughed when his brother slapped a hand up to his forehead.

"Bitch," Dean grumbled, rubbing his fingers over the growing welt he could feel near his hairline. He tightened his arm around Sam's waist when he listed to one side. "Easy." He looked down at the disturbing blood stains on his brother's shirt. "How's the bleeding?"

"Sucks." Sam huffed out a laugh and eyed the tree line, wishing it was closer. "I'll make it."

Sam turned his head to watch as the Men of Letters train blew its horn once and started chugging away from them back on its appointed route. "Think anyone'll believe us if we tell them we ganked an actual beholder?"

Dean snorted. "Not a chance."

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 _The End._


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